


The Mercy of Men

by ellehir



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Angst, Brotherly Affection, Captivity, Forced Prostitution, Forced Relationship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pre-Movie(s), Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Slow Build, Starvation, Strategy & Tactics, Threats of Violence, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellehir/pseuds/ellehir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of Men.’</i><br/>And some men may have ulterior motives! My take on what could have happened if fate had been even less kind to the heirs of Durin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

_"The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, labouring in the villages of Men."_

Gold was not the only thing lost on the day Smaug took up residence in the mountain kingdom of Erebor. The beast had stolen from them their livelihood, the very essence their existence. Their survival depended on their ability to adapt to a world considered far inferior to their own. The skills of a master craftsman dwarf are reduced to uselessness in the villages of Men with their rudimentary machinery and base ambitions. Others made use of their skills as warriors – offering themselves as an escort for merchants’ convoys travelling through the Blue Mountains for delivery to the surrounding towns and villages of Men and hobbits. 

It was indignant to the previously revered race of noble dwarves of Erebor to be reduced to common day labourers and mercenaries, but even a prince needed food and shelter – things not easy to come by in the unfriendly and distrusting communities in the North. It was not a rare occurrence to hear of a former dwarf lord begging for work on the roads leading to farms in the countryside. Dwarf women sometimes took up work in the kitchens and gardens of the rich, some rendered widows by the siege of Erebor. Some even resorted to selling themselves to the men of the villages for a night – anything to earn a few coins to spend on their dwarflings which were never too far behind, and could often be seen sauntering through the garbage heaps outside the villages. 

As the years passed and the great halls of Erebor were almost completely faded from the memories of those who once lavished in its riches, dwarf kinships separated, hopefully seeking employment in other parts of the land. This time arrived even for the former prince of Erebor and his kin. Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews had just been informed that their services as guardsmen to the some spice traders of Bree-land were no longer required and hence they had set off to the village of Bree to seek other means of occupation. 

Bree was a hostile, lawless place; its residents mainly consisted of small-scale traders and it was well known to be a foot hole for illegal activity. Even as Thorin, Fíli and Kíli entered its gates at midmorning, they witnessed an old man driving a cart being robbed of some of his vegetable produce and no-one except the old man even uttered a word in protest.

“Stay close,” Thorin whispered to his nephews walking at his side, “And keep your wits about you.”

Fíli and Kíli nodded, continuing their brisk pace aside their uncle down the main street of Bree. Even though Bree was a multiracial village consisting of men, hobbits, and as of a more recent time some dwarves, the company of three still received a few interested glances. As they passed a tavern indicated as The Prancing Pony, they spotted a dwarf woman slouching in an alleyway with her shawl draped over her bare shoulders, occasionally meeting the eyes of men but instantly averting her gaze as Thorin and his nephews passed. 

Even after all these years of suffering this indignity, Fíli could still see the way his uncle winced inwardly at the sight of his people being reduced to the scum of the earth. They reached the caravans of Bree just in time see a convoy carrying hay and barley leave through the traders’ gate. A terrible stench of animal waste, rotting fruit and bad company polluted the air. 

“Disgusting place,” Thorin spat, looking on as a screeching pig was pushed into a too-small crate and loaded into a dilapidated caravan. Another convoy appeared to be preparing to leave and at Thorin’s bidding Fíli approached the driver with as much confidence as he could muster, “Pardon me, sir. We are dwarves of the Blue Mountains offering service as escort through the mountain ranges.”

The driver didn’t even seem to take notice of the dwarf and simply turned around and disappeared into a nearby building, shouting some obscenities. Fíli shrugged and continued to the next caravan. Thorin and Kíli remained at the sidelines, leaving the task of business negotiation to Fíli who possessed the best arbitration skills by far. 

After some time, Fíli returned wearing a dispirited expression, “None, not even at a reduced price.” Both the others sighed their frustration: the service of three warriors of noble blood not even worth a moment of these simple traders’ time. 

“We could continue on to the farmlands,” Kíli suggested “It is harvest season for barley and they will most probably take on a few extra hands.”

Thorin shook his head, “It is still only temporary. We will need something more permanent if we are going to survive staying in these parts throughout winter.”

A sharp whistle interrupted the conversation: a man amongst the caravans was waving Fíli over. After a brief discussion, Fíli returned looking at least somewhat hopeful.

“He says he can use one of us to guard his shipment of pelts from here to the Shire; he is leaving this afternoon” Fíli said, pointing over at a small but stacked cart standing near the gate of the trading post. 

“Only one?” Kíli asked, “And three silvers isn’t much for a two week journey.” 

“He says that on return to Bree he will be leaving with a large caravan of goods to trade with our kin in the Iron Hills. He will then be able to afford all three of us at a reasonable fee,” Fíli continued, looking at Thorin expectantly. 

After a moment of quiet deliberation, Thorin answered, “If we can reach the Iron Hills before winter we may be able find work amongst our own.” 

“But we can’t afford to wait for two weeks – we have enough coin to survive for maybe a week, if not less,” Kíli added. “We will need to find other work in the meantime.” 

“Don’t know if you noticed, but work isn’t exactly offered in abundance at the moment!” Fíli snapped.

“Enough!” Thorin interjected. “Kíli’s right. We will seek employment in the farmlands until the caravan leaves for the Iron Hills.”

“The trader emphasized that he would be leaving again as soon as he returns from the Shire and that he cannot tally even for a moment to wait for us,” Fíli said, addressing his uncle, “Thorin, you must accompany the trader to the Shire. Kíli and I will seek work in the farmlands until you return. Between the three of us we should have enough coin for the journey to the Iron Hills.”

Thorin shook his head. “No, I won’t leave you two here amongst these unsavoury people,” Thorin said eyeing the passing villagers with suspicion. 

“We can surely survive two weeks without your protection,” Fíli reasoned, “We have been here the whole day and this is the best opportunity we have gotten.” 

Thorin seemed lost in thought for a while, trudging around the mud and finally letting out a sigh of resignation. “Alright, but you stay out of the village as much as you can. There are plenty of men here eager to pick a fight with a dwarf.” His nephews nodded. “Leave word at the Prancing Pony of where you will be staying. As soon as I return, I send for you and you can catch up.”

It was after this decision that Fíli made arrangements with the trader leaving for the Shire and then the company retired to an inn for the night. With first morning light, Thorin left for the trading post and the two brothers started down the dirt path leading to the farms outside of Bree.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kerán was a vegetable farmer living outside of Bree. The season for harvesting summer vegetables was now over and he had to rely on other income to carry him through the cold winter months until the next harvest. Amongst some evergreen trees on his lands, just beyond his pig sties, was a small stone hovel - inside a large dusty forge and an anvil stood beneath a layer of ash and dust. Beside the anvil was a crooked wooden table and underneath it lies the still articulated skeleton of a creature smaller than human, yet larger than a hobbit. 

TBC


	2. Reckless

The autumn morning had become pleasantly warm by the time the brothers had passed the first couple of farms on the road out of Bree. None so far could offer them employment for the time being and at least some of the farmers looked genuinely regretful for sending them away. Further down the road the distances between farms were increasing and the path had forked several times, leading to the lands in between and beyond the surrounding hills.

Most of the farms they had encountered had been small, humble operations but a long way down a particularly rough path had led them to the gates of what appeared to be a large estate. Though the ornate stone arches were now almost in ruin, they told the story of a thriving industry many years ago. Now the rusty gates had fallen from the hinges and were propped up against the arches. The path curving towards the cluster of pine trees in the distance was paved with smooth cobblestones and both dwarves noticed by the state of the fields that harvesting and reaping had already taken place. Nevertheless, they continued down the path and it was not long before a large russet red roof could be seen looming amongst the trees – the farmhouse appeared to be much larger than others they had encountered, being a double storey built with a creamy coloured stone and with arches of the same design as the ones at the gate framing the windows and doorways. Yet, the whole place seemed derelict, run-down and somewhat depressing.

The dwarves halted in front of the lofty porch, and after a quick mutual nod, started up the steps leading towards the front door of the farmhouse. But before either could reach the top, a loud voice suddenly spoke from below, “Oi!”. Whipping around, they could see that the voice belonged to a man – a farmer as evident by his apparel – carrying an armful of kindling and a hostile expression. “What brings you here, trespassing on my property?”

It took a moment for Fíli to gather his thoughts and phrase them in a diplomatic way, “Good day, sir!” he greeted the farmer politely, raising his hand away from the hilt of his sword, showing that the meant no harm. “We come here seeking work in the farmlands. Temporarily,” he added, “Until we leave to join our kin in the south.” Fíli felt his brother turn to stand next to him, probably at the ready to draw an arrow should the conversation turn violent.

To their relief, the farmer’s glare softened and he bent down to place the wood on the ground, straightening up wearing a tired smile, “I see,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Say, where are you from?” he asked, taking a few slow steps closer.

“We come from the Blue Mountains,” was Fíli’s simple answer. He didn’t want to give the farmer any unnecessary detail. To him they were simple dwarves and for their own safety’s sake, he wanted to keep it that way.

The farmer wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, lifting one foot onto the bottom step and placing his hands on his hips, seemingly studying the two dwarves in front of him.  A part of Fíli’s mind noticed that whilst the farmer had studied him with cool calculation, something in the farmer’s eyes changed slightly whilst looking at Kíli – perhaps lingering for just a heartbeat longer.

The farmer let out a deep sigh, “Well then, let’s go inside then. Shall we?” he motioned with his hand towards the door. The bothers stepped aside as the farmer ascended the flight of steps and then proceeded to follow the farmer to the farmhouse door which he opened, gesturing the dwarves inside. Just before entering, Kíli raised his eyes to give Fíli a questioning look to which Fíli replied with a barely discernible nod; the farmer didn’t seem to pose a threat, at least not in temperament, and if he should then they are well equipped to defend themselves.

Once inside, they found themselves inside a large kitchen, even by man’s standards. A large, heavy wooden table stood in the centre of the room, bearing crates of various vegetables and a basket of bread. A carving block stood on one side along with a knife and thick slices of cheese.  The entire room was bathed in the warm glow from the hearth upon which stood a large pot, bubbling merrily.

“Help yourself,” the farmer prompted. As a rule, no dwarf ever passes up the opportunity to have a go at food. Kíli had already grabbed a carrot from one of the crates, munching on it as he took a seat at the table, pulling over the carving block with the cheese. Fíli deliberated just a moment before joining him, offering the farmer a nod of thanks before helping himself to some bread and cheese. It wasn’t like they ever had to go hungry, even whilst on the road – there had always been enough to go around – and Thorin had always made sure that his nephews were well clothed and fed. But there was no question that it was nice to have some food not bought from the greasy food stalls in Bree.

Moving over to inspect the contents of the pot, the farmer used a wooden spoon to stir it around a bit before turning his attention back to the dwarves. “My name is Kerán,” he said, pulling out the chair to sit down at the head of the table. “And these are my lands.”

The farmer was about middle-aged, Fíli noticed. Yet he appeared fit and strong, with broad shoulders. His shoulder-length unkempt hair was partly tied behind his head and he had strong facial features, but no characteristics so pronounced that it would make him stand out in a crowd.

Fíli, who had seated himself on the other side of Kíli, introduced both him and his brother. Kíli raised a hand in acknowledgement, smiling whilst chewing a mouthful of cheese. 

“Kíli…” The farmer – Kerán, that is – tested the name on his tongue. “Kíli and … Fíli. Interesting names. Are you travelling alone?”

“No. Our uncle will be travelling with us,” Fíli answered, digging into the cheese sandwich he had made himself.

“And is he waiting for you back in the village?” Kerán asked, watching Kíli eat, bemusedly.

“We are meeting up with him there in two weeks time,” Kíli replied, reaching over to pull another carrot from the crate.

“So you are planning to wait for him here until he comes back?”

The question had a rather obvious answer, but Fíli replied anyway. “Yes. We are quite good at a lot of tasks. I’m quite good at fixing things and Kíli here is an excellent shot. If you have some wild game around or…” It was clear that there was no more harvesting to be done on this farm, yet Fíli did not want to give the impression that they simply wanted to take advantage of the farmer’s hospitality.

Abruptly, Kerán changed the topic. “How about I make you some tea?” he asked, scooting his chair back and leaning over to reach the kettle on the counter behind him.

“Ah, no. If you don’t mind,” Kíli said through a mouthful of carrot, “Something nice and cold will be good.” Fíli nodded, he himself had never liked tea and would definitely not choose to drink it on such a warm day.

For a moment, the farmer looked somewhat confused, as if not quite expecting his offer of tea to be rejected. “Uh, yes, I have some…” he stood up and walked over to the cabinet next to the basin, “…some mead, I think…ah, here it is!”

After pulling two cups from the same cabinet, he placed them and the mead flask onto the table. Kíli eagerly poured himself a cup, before handing Fíli the flask.

Leaning forward on his elbow towards Kíli, Kerán asked, “So, you are an archer? I was quite good at it in my time - won first prize at the fair for many years.”

“I use a sword too,” Kíli added. “But I would pick a bow above the largest of swords, anyday!” Thus began a lively conversation about the efficacy of a bow in battle and when hunting, with Fíli frequently interjecting to advocate the value of a blade. After a short while, the conversation grew more animated, probably as a result of the mead, and lasted a good couple of hours.

It was obvious that Kerán was enamoured with Kíli by the way he paid most of his attention to the younger dwarf during the conversation, always agreeing enthusiastically at whatever Kíli was rambling on about. Fíli had gotten use to this over the years – Kíli was indeed very charismatic and would often use it to his advantage when it suited him. Fíli, being the more responsible one, often had to keep a more serious attitude about him. But sitting there in the kitchen, amidst his brother and the kind farmer, eating, laughing and drinking, he felt truly relaxed for the first time since leaving  his home in the Blue Mountains at the beginning of the spring.

Upon Kerán’s insistence, they agreed that they would be staying with the farmer until they had to go meet their uncle in Bree. They had the stew Kerán had been preparing on the hearth for dinner and moved the conversation to the sitting room, which was well-furnished with armchairs and had thick fur carpets. Pelts and pictures decorated the walls and Fíli noticed a beautifully drawn portrait of a young woman with long hair and kind eyes.

“My wife,” the farmer had told him upon his inquiry. “She died in childbirth almost ten years ago,” he had added sadly before averting his gaze quickly and then taking Kíli up on some or other joke about dwarves’ fighting skills.

It was well into the night, sitting near the crackling fireplace when Kerán returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, which he handed to each dwarf in turn, babbling about how cold the night can get out there on the open farmlands.

Whilst Kíli sipped at the tea as the night drew on, Fíli could not bring himself to drink the over sweetened greenish liquid and set the cup aside after only a small taste. He didn’t want to insult their host, and planned to dump it down the kitchen drain later.  With the pleasant warmth of the fire against his back and his stomach full, the exhaustion of the previous few weeks of journeying washed over him, dragging him under into peaceful sleep with the conversation between Kíli and Kerán still going on in the background.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fíli woke very slowly, his head still swimming with unfinished dreams and it was with great effort that he opened his eyes to find that the room had become darkened whilst he was asleep – the only remnants of the roaring fire being a few glowing lumps of coal.

 _Kíli_ , his groggy mind was vaguely urging, _where was Kíli?_

Fíli swung his legs down from the man-sized armchair he had fallen asleep in. He felt a bit dizzy, too warm and sluggish – as if gravity had decided to favour the spot he was sitting in. Forcing his eyes to remain open, he looked around, trying to focus on what he was seeing. Something seemed off. Kíli was not in the room and if he was sleeping somewhere nearby then Fíli would hear him snoring. No, something was wrong and he had to find Kíli. _He had to find Kíli._

Fíli stood up on wobbly legs and headed for the hallway leading to the kitchen. He had to catch himself on either side of the wall as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He found the kitchen just as desolate as the sitting room he had come from. He leaned against the kitchen wall, trying to come to terms with what to he was supposed to do next.

 _It is cold here_ , his mind plagued, _why is it so cold?_ The door to the outside was open, he finally noticed. _Why would the kitchen door be open?_

Gripping the edge of the table for balance, he made his way to the door, seeing that both his and Kíli’s armour and weapons were still on the counter where they had left them earlier that day, and stepped outside into the dark. The wind was quiet and Fíli stood there dumbstruck, trying to figure out what he was looking for. A scuffling noise in the distance drew his attention and he slowly made his way in the general direction. Rounding the corner of the farmhouse, he noticed a weak light coming from somewhere between some trees a bit further ahead. The scuffling noise started up again but Fíli’s mind didn’t seem to want to supply the answer to what its source could be.

The distance between him and the light seemed to take forever. He recognized the farmer’s silhouette cast unto a rough stone wall by the yellow light from a lantern standing on a nearby wooden barrel.  He was bending down, dragging something across the dirt. It was only when Fíli had almost reached the lantern that his mind finally registered what was happening.

 _Kíli. Kíli._ “Kíli!”

Kerán’s head snapped up and his flabbergasted expression would have been comical in any other situation. He released the unconscious dwarf he had been holding, dropping him unceremoniously and stepping towards Fíli expectantly.

Fíli lowered his head and charged, attacking with his fists as his only weapon. The impact against the man’s body almost sent him reeling, his muscles still unresponsive to his brain’s commands. After a few moments of wrestling, Kerán managed to shove Fíli away with surprising strength and took the opportunity to grab a shovel leaning against the wall. Without as much as a chance to get to his feet again, Fíli saw the farmer swing the shovel at him. The first blow hit Fíli on the right shoulder, but he scarcely felt it, trying to orient himself in order to get up. He didn’t see the second blow coming for his head but he felt the sick metallic clang reverberating in his skull. He registered a feeling of intense nausea before his eyes closed of their own accord and his mind retreated into unconsciousness.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fíli came to with a surge of adrenaline and flailing limbs. With his vision still hazy, he relied on his other senses – he could hear birds chirping distantly and he could feel that he was lying on a hard, cold floor. Most of all he could feel a splitting headache slowly consuming all other thoughts – all other thoughts except…

“Kíli!” He yanked himself upright; the thoughts of the previous night came back to him in a whirl.  The meagre light in the room felt blinding and he blinked several times before he managed to recognize that it was his brother’s supine body lying next to him – eerily quiet.

_Please don’t be dead, Kíli_

He pawed at the figure and to his immense relief he could feel the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. Next he discerned that some of the ringing in his ears was actually the clanging of chains and he noticed that his left boot had been removed and a thick metal shackle connected his ankle to a rail running just above the floor. He looked over to see if Kíli had been left unrestrained and was not surprised to see that his brother had been shackled to the rail in the same way. Taking a few deep breaths, he made a conscious effort to study the room in which he found himself.

The walls were made of a rough grey stone, forming a small room. He was sitting with his back against a wooden counter running down the length of the room and in the adjacent wall to his right was a wooden door barred by an iron gate. There were rectangles of golden light on the opposite wall, assumingly coming from high-set windows in the wall behind him. An anvil stood in the middle of the room which was to his left. A large hearth was built into the centre of the other wall. Doorways on either side of the hearth seemed to lead to a small, dark backroom.

Everything was rendered a greyish hue by layers of dust and a particular lump of grey on the other side of the anvil caught his eye. Carefully, Fíli lifted himself unto his knees and crawled towards it, squinting while trying to make sense of the shape. To his surprise, the chain of his shackle had enough slack to allow him to reach it. At his touch, the form fell over and Fíli felt the horror creep up his spine at what he saw.

It was a dwarf - or more accurately, the skeleton of a dwarf. Still on his hands and knees, Fíli quickly retreated back to the counter, panting harshly and trying to calm himself. _There are dead dwarves here_. He returned his focus to Kíli at his side who was still sleeping seemingly peacefully. Exhausted even though had had just woken up moments ago, Fíli scooted himself closer and laid his head down onto his brother’s chest and allowed the rhythmic heartbeat to lull him back to sleep.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Negotiation - to be up next week!  
> Concrit always appreciated!


	3. Negotiations

Fíli woke again when Kíli stirred beneath him, groaning out an incoherent string of words and bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. Yellow beams of dusty sunshine were shining through the small windows above them, indicating late afternoon. Fíli sat back, watching his brother prop himself up on his elbows, frowning at the state of his own dishevelled and dusty clothing and then looking up at Fíli with a questioning smile. It was only when he saw the look on Fíli’s face that he suddenly jerked himself upright, his eyes frantically searching the room and finally noticing the shackle around his ankle.

Fíli wanted to say something. Say some words of reassurance or comfort to his younger brother who seemed to be catching up to the situation quite quickly, realising that they have been tricked and ensnared by someone they had deemed a friend just the previous day, but no words came to  Fíli’s lips. He wanted to tell Kíli that it was going to be alright, that they would get out of this, but he had no idea what would be happening now. What could a simple farmer want with two dwarves?

Reaching up to grab the edge of the counter for support, Kíli stood up slowly, leaning heavily. “What is this place?” he asked, inspecting the four walls with trepidation. “Where are we? Fíli?”

Fíli came to his feet as well, chains clinking, his head still throbbing but at least he didn’t feel as shaky as he had earlier. “I don’t know. I…,” he faltered. “It was Kerán. He… last night he…”

Kíli looked down at his feet again and began yanking at the chain angrily, kicking and pulling away from the rail where it was fastened and finally bringing his foot up to flit his fingers through the hoops of the chain and the shackle itself, searching for a gap or crevice to pry open and finding none. Slamming both his fists down on the countertop in frustration, Kíli let out an angry growl. Fíli noticed that the rail that ran along the floor in fact continued along the entire circumference of the room. Well, almost. It stopped short a few feet from the door, the rail vanishing into the wall and re-emerging on the other side of the door. 

Staring in that direction, he was shaken out of his thoughts when the door suddenly swung open on screeching hinges, revealing their host from the previous night standing on the other side of the wrought iron gate, wearing the same smile had had the day before.

“Useless dwarves,” the farmer declared with a hint of drama. “Waking up when they are _not_ supposed to…” he gave Fíli an evocative glare, “… and then sleeping like the dead far into the afternoon!”

Fíli knew what was going to happen next even as the farmer was saying those words: Kíli lunged forward in anger, storming towards the door. The chain around his ankle followed along the rail for the first few steps and then caused Kíli to plummet into the stone floor when it had reached its limit.

“Kíli!” Fíli ran forward, taking care not to trip over his own tether. Kíli was still angrily clawing at the stone floor, reaching forward toward the boots of his captor, just out of his reach beyond the gate. Kerán merely smirked, seemingly amused at Kíli’s attempt at attacking him.

“What do you want with us?” Fíli asked, crouching down at his flailing brother’s side, placing an arm around his shoulders. “Why would you do this?”

The farmer let out a mirthless laugh. “Isn’t it obvious – you are going to work for me, of course!”

“ _This_ ,” Fíli grabbed a handful of the chain around his ankle for emphasis, “ _This_ is not what we had discussed!”

“I don’t remember you saying anything about working conditions,” Kerán said, linking his hands through the bars of the gate. “And besides, I don’t know why you are so upset – you wanted work, I am giving you work.” This conversation was taking a turn for the worst, but Fíli tried to keep calm, tried to reason a logical argument in his head.

“We have some gold,” he said, trying to keep the tinge of desperation out of his voice. “We’ll give it to you if you…just…” Fíli reached into the pockets of his trousers where he kept the six golden coins they had saved up thus far. But the leather pouch was not there.

The farmer flashed them a toothy grin, “You can’t give me what I already took. And a few coins won’t buy you freedom.” Fíli could feel the rage bubbling up inside him.

“So you will let us go when we are done working?” he asked, helping Kíli up while pouring all his anger into the words directed at the man. “We are meeting our uncle in two weeks time, you know this!”

“You see, I was thinking along the lines of a more permanent arrangement,” was Kerán’s nonchalant answer.

“You can’t just keep us here, you fool!” Kíli shouted at him. “Our uncle will come looking for us!”

“I don’t doubt he will,” Kerán replied. “But he will find no dwarves here,” he continued, “Nor anywhere else, for you see, there was a terrible accident – two young dwarves killed by a pack of wolves along the smaller roads. Terrible business, not even a scrap of clothing left. Only this…” The farmer pulled a bronze dagger from his belt and Fíli instantly recognised it as his own, given to him by his uncle Thorin.

This time it was Fíli who stormed the gate, grabbing at air when he could go no nearer than the length of chain allowed. “You will regret this,” Fíli hissed. “And don’t you think we will do any work for you!”

Kerán chuckled, “In that case you might find your stay here even less desirable – for you see, work earns you food. No work,” the farmer shrugged, “No food.”

Fíli looked over, meeting Kíli’s anxious eyes. Fíli did not know what to say to this man who now wields so much power over them. Digressing to his last resort, Fíli turned back to their captor, “Why couldn’t you just find someone to work for you willingly,” he asked, “Why do this?” he asked. The man was not hurting for money, Fíli knew. He had seen the inside of the house – the good food and luxurious furniture had reflected the farmer’s wealth.

Kerán gave Fíli a long thoughtful look, as if contemplating a very meaningful answer. He shifted his gaze to a seething Kíli, standing with his fists clenched at his brother’s side.

“Because you don’t always get what you want!” The farmer slammed the door shut abruptly, casting the room into a murky darkness once more. During the silence that followed, the last few golden rays of sunshine faded, engulfed by shadows.

-000- 

 _Stupid_. That is what he was - a stupid, naïve dwarfling who led his brother and himself straight into a madman’s trap. How many dwarves has this farmer ensnared with his little friendship scheme over the years – and where were they now? The dwarven skeleton lying beneath the table was indication enough and Fíli wondered how the poor soul had met his end. Was he murdered? Worked to death? Probably starved, Fíli decided, considering what the farmer had said earlier; made to work until his legs gave out and then left to die here with no comfort or even sympathy from the man who caused him his suffering.

Fíli sighed. It was night time now and, guided by only the small amount of moonlight the tiny windows admitted, they were negotiating their way around the room, carefully manoeuvring their ankle chains along the rail as they went, searching for some way to escape their prison. Soon the intent behind the design of the room was clear – they could reach every part of it if they moved along the rail, except for the door, and the length of the chain allowed them to reach the centre of the room where the anvil and table stood.

The rail ran along the wall on the one side of what Fíli now recognised to be a forge - not a hearth - and into the small backroom where a dirty blanket was lying in one corner and a lavatory was built into the other. The rail emerged on the other side of the forge and made its way along the workbench, past a stone basin, and stopping a few feet before reaching the door.

It was a blacksmith’s workshop, Fíli realised. At least that explained what type of work the farmer had in mind for them. It was well known that the dwarves’ craft in blacksmithing remains unprecedented, yet Fíli knew that both he and his brother had always preferred the sword over the hammer.

“Thorin will come for us,” Kíli stated. They had sat down together on the lump of blanket in the back room. The night air was chilly around them, and missing one boot each and their fur-lined coats which they had left in the farmer’s kitchen along with their weapons the night before, both had wrapped their arms around themselves to conserve heat.

“Of course he will,” Fíli agreed. “It is only a matter of time. And when he does, he will stick a sword through that man’s gut before he can even open his lying mouth.”

Kíli chuckled darkly, “Maybe he would let me put a couple of arrows in him first,” he mused.

Fíli returned the laugh and leaned back, closing his eyes. _What would Thorin do in this situation?_ Fíli admitted that he didn’t like his own answer: Thorin would not have landed himself in this predicament in the first place. He would have seen the danger coming; not letting his guard down so easily. He would have protected his family and he would be free right now.

-000- 

Fíli had fallen into a fitful sleep sometime during the night and it could have barely been dawn when he was wakened by Kíli’s voice coming from the main room.

“Fíli! Someone’s coming, wake up!”

It took him just a few seconds to jolt upright and stumble towards Kíli standing near the door, again nearly tripping over his chain in the process. The crunching of boots on gravel on the outside reached its crescendo just as Fíli swerved and stepped in front of his brother, purposely placing his own body between him and whoever would be coming through the door.

It was Kerán, of course. He was carrying a bucket in one hand and was using a set of keys to open the gate. He stepped inside, but kept close to the door – still out of reach of the two dwarves.

“Good morning, my two dwarf slaves!” he greeted in a mocking, merry tone. “Sleep well?”

For a brief moment Fíli wondered if the man was seriously expecting an answer to that. Either way he opted for crossing his arms and glaring, his eyes never leaving the farmer’s smug face.

“I thought I would start you off easy today,” the farmer continued, leaning forward and setting the bucket down within reach of his captives. “This place could really use a good cleaning.”

Still Fíli said nothing and neither did Kíli. They were absolutely not going to play his game. They were going to stand tall. _Like Thorin would,_ Fíli’s mind added.

Kerán grinned at their silence. “Just as I expected.” He shrugged. “Well, tell me when you are ready to comply then.” With that he turned around and closed the door behind him. There was the sound of the gate locking and then he was gone.

That was day number one. The farmer didn’t return for the rest of the day and the dwarves were left to ponder the room like they had the previous night. In the light of day, they found some metal working tools buried beneath the dust. Also, it was clear in the way the room was built – the forge, the anvil and even the wooden table, that it was of dwarvish make. The workbench and counter was also of dwarf height and against the far wall, Fíli could make out some dwarvish runes etched into the wall. Most were faded, but one – the rune for water – was still visible.

Fíli noticed that he and Kíli both avoided looking at the skeleton beneath the table _. That was not going to happen to them. They would survive this._

On day number two the farmer only opened the door at dawn to take a quick look at the condition of the room before leaving without saying a word. The hunger had begun to gnaw at Fíli’s insides and he knew that Kíli must be feeling the same, even if he didn’t admit it. They had drunk some of the water from the bucket the farmer had left for them to clean with, but the old rags in the bucket had turned the water murky and made it taste oily.

They spent the day looking for a weakness in the rail or the shackles– a spot they could break apart using some of the blacksmith tools. But they were solid, even after hours of hammering at it not so much as a scratch could be seen. _Dwarvish iron_ , Fíli realized – could only be shaped using extreme heat – much more than the small forge could supply even if they had the coal to operate it.

On day number three the hunger pangs were all-consuming. Kíli sat on the dusty blanket in the backroom and didn’t leave it for the entire morning and most of the afternoon. Realising that their stubbornness was not going to last much longer, Fíli gave in. He was supposed to be protecting Kíli, but making them both to starve was not going to accomplish anything.

 _Forgive me, Thorin_.  

With hands trembling, Fíli started cleaning the counter nearest to the door. Kíli was sleeping in the back room and Fíli found that he was grateful for that. Grateful that his brother wasn’t there to see him give in, weak with hunger and barely able to keep himself upright due to the cramps in his abdomen.

That evening the farmer returned, and after a quick glance and a self-satisfied grin, brought forth a large bowl containing some sort of soup which he scooted across the floor at Fíli.

“Eat up,” he ordered.

Fíli spent that night sitting next to Kíli’s sleeping form, sharpening the edge of the chisel he had found against the rough stone floor. It would only be a matter of time before the farmer stepped over that invisible threshold and into his reach.

Only a matter of time - and then he would pay dearly.

TBC


	4. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings as indicated from now on!*

The rays of morning sunshine did little to alleviate the heavy wintriness that seemed to have set into the room. Both Fíli and Kíli had been lying awake for hours before sunrise, neither speaking but savouring the relative peace now that the dizziness that came with the previous days’ worth of hunger had been somewhat lifted.

Fíli’s thoughts were centered on the _what-if_. What if he had grabbed his falchion on his way out the door that night? What if he had just been able to hold his own against Kerán, a simple human farmer? Fíli imagined that the sip of tea he had taken that night had quite a lot to do with that, clouding both his mind and thwarting his ability to fight. Kíli probably drank the whole cup and it knocked him out for nearly a whole day. It was still going to be more than a week before Thorin was to return to Bree and someone even began searching for them. More than a week at the mercy of a man who obviously didn’t value the lives of dwarves to begin with.

The door opened once the sun was up and the farmer greeted them cheerily and placed two more buckets of water down on the floor, again instructing them to clean the room properly by the end of the day.  Fíli kept one hand near the waistband of his trousers where he kept the sharpened chisel, watching Kerán carefully should he step into Fíli’s reach. Unfortunately, Kerán never did, quickly retreating and locking the gate once he had put the buckets down. Surprisingly, he left the door open, allowing the crisp morning breeze into the musty room.

“I’ll see you tonight, my little dwarves,” Kerán waved as he walked away. Even at a distance from the door, Fíli could clearly see the back of the house and to the far right, the cobblestone pathway coming from the front gate. Yelling to attract attention wouldn’t help, he knew. There was no-one near enough to hear them – the farm was large and quite some distance from the others and the harvesting was done, so he wasn’t expecting anyone to come down the pathway anytime soon.

It was a long day spent washing down the worktables, counters and cupboards with the cold water and trying to gather most of the dust from the floor. With careful hands, they wrapped the dwarven skeleton in the blanket from the back room, respectfully putting it aside and as far out of sight as possible. By night time, they were both tired, frustrated and, once again, hungry. But during the long hours a plan had formed in Fíli’s mind – they had to find a way to make the farmer lean just a little bit further into the room. Kíli was rather good at putting up an act when he needed to and had enthusiastically agreed to his part in the scheme. They took turns keeping an eye on the door that afternoon, waiting for – no, _anticipating_ \- the farmer to come down the pathway.

When Kerán returned at dusk, he brought with him another bowl, supposedly food, and unlocked the gate with practiced ease.  By then the dwarves had already set-up a trap of their own. The buckets with the dust and filthy water were lined up near the door – just a bit further away than they had been previously. Kíli sat with his back against the wall beside the buckets, slumped and appearing to be half-asleep, the hand behind his back hiding the fire poker he had found in the forge while cleaning. Fíli kept a few paces back, arms crossed and at the ready.

“I knew you would cooperate eventually,” Kerán said. He slowly placed the bowl down, lifting his gaze to look at Kíli with something akin to concern. When he got back up he reached for handle of the nearest bucket, looking at Fíli with suspicion.

And rightly so, for the moment the man rocked forward on the balls of his feet, Kíli swung the poker from behind his back, hitting the man’s ankles with enough force to make him topple forward. Fíli yanked the chisel from his waistband, quickly straddling the man’s shoulders and grabbing a fistful of hair to lift the head, exposing the man’s throat to the sharp edge of his improvised weapon. Kíli jumped up and stomped his booted foot down on the man’s lower back, making sure Kerán could feel the sharp tip of the poker digging into his side.

_This is it! They had him!_

It was eerily quiet for the briefest moment and then there was unexpected sound of Kerán’s giddy laugh. It was a deep throaty chuckle of pure amusement, as if he had just been told the funniest joke in all of Middle Earth. Fíli tightened his fist in the man’s hair.

“Give me the keys!” he snarled. “Release us and we might suffer your wretched soul to live.” But Kerán only continued laughing.

“Did you not hear me!” Fíli pressed the chisel further into the flesh of Kerán’s neck. “Where are the keys?” he was shouting now, knowing how desperate he must sound. _What could the man be finding so amusing._

Kerán panted, out of breath from his laughing fit. “I don’t have them with me!”

“Liar!” Fíli dragged the chisel across Kerán’s neck, drawing the faintest line of blood. “Don’t think I won’t kill you right here!”

“And how are you going to escape then?” Kerán asked. “With me dead, are the chains simply going to disappear?”

Slowly Fíli began to realize the flaw in their plan. “Search him!” he called over his shoulder at Kíli. Sure enough the farmer was holding a key in his hand – the key to the gate. But the gate was already open and the key was much too big to fit the lock on their shackles. He kept a firm grip on the man while Kíli searched his clothes for the keys to their chains. Puzzlingly, Kerán did not struggle at all, only chuckling softly and moaning a sigh of pleasure when Kíli patted down his back pockets. Just that sound alone made the bile rise in Fíli’s throat.

He looked back at Kíli who only shook his head. _Nothing._

With the frustration and disappointment bubbling up inside him, Fíli smashed Kerán’s head into the stone floor, hearing the man’s nose bones crunch on impact.

That at least made Kerán stop laughing. “Get off me!” he grunted, blood streaming down his face and puddling on the floor at an alarming rate. “Get off me now! With every moment’s delay your punishment is going to be worse.”

Fíli racked his brain for a way out. _How could their plan have gone so wrong?_ From the corner of his eye, he saw Kíli get up and step back and it was only then that he realised just how much trouble they have gotten themselves into now. He released the man’s hair as if it had burnt him, standing up on shaky legs and retreating back towards the wall, dropping the chisel and again placing himself in front of his brother – protecting him against the man’s wrath which will surely follow.

With one hand covering his bleeding nose, Kerán came to his feet and headed for the door. “I will deal with you later,” he hissed. He locked the gate and closed the door, but not before very deliberately kicking the bowl of stew he had brought out the door, splashing it over the grassy knobs outside.

Fíli let out a sigh of temporary relief once the man was out the door and heard Kíli behind him do the same. They had both survived unscathed, but judging by the livid look in the man’s eyes as he had turned to lock them in, they would not be for long.

-000- 

Kerán did not come that night or the following morning. The anticipation of whatever the man was planning for his revenge was hanging thick in the room. They have not actually seen the man angry up to now and as they day turned late afternoon again, Fíli wondered if Kerán was simply going to leave them there to starve for their punishment and then only realize that it was too late when he opened the door to find two dead dwarves. Both he and Kíli were shaking with hunger and parched with thirst. Thorin would never find them and what was left of the Durin line will vanish without even a trace. Fíli always thought that he would die alongside his uncle, the great Thorin Oakenshield, in battle when the dwarves retook Erebor someday. Dying in a cage at the whim of a farmer held none of that glory – only a slow, painful and meaningless death.

Kerán did return that evening, however. When he came through the door he had a lantern in one hand and one of Kíli’s hunting knifes in the other. The blade reflected the yellow light from the lantern as Kerán twirled it around in his hand. He was not smiling as he usually was. Instead he wore a grim expression with determined eyes. Even in the meek lantern light, Fíli could see the purple swelling around the man’s broken nose, which made him look even more menacing.

_Was he going to kill them now?_

Fíli made sure that Kíli was behind him, but stood perfectly still as the man approached them, steeling himself for whatever the man planned to do. He could only hope that Kerán would take it out on him, the one who had broken his nose, instead of Kíli.

“I was going to be nice to you,” Kerán began, placing the lantern onto the wooden table. “But now I see that you are no better than the other dwarf scum I had in the past.”

Fíli kept silent, holding the man’s glare, monitoring his expression for any sign that he was going to pounce.

“I should just slit your throats right now,” he growled taking another step forward and Fíli could hear the clinking of the chain as Kíli took a step backward.

Fíli held his ground, keeping his demeanour as calm as possible. Any rash behaviour now will only worsen their situation further. Besides, if the man wanted to kill them he would not idle to make threats.

“I have had enough with your games. Now you will listen to me,” Kerán continued. He raised his hand holding the knife and pointed it at Fíli’s throat. “From now on you will earn every kindness, every chance to rest and every crumb of bread.”

“We will do as you say,” Fíli relented, taking a small step back. “But we cannot work for you if you give us no food or water.”

“You will earn it!” Kerán shouted, emphasising each word, spitting it out as he jutted the blade in Fíli’s direction again.

“What do you want then?” Fíli asked, keeping his voice humble, demure.

The man’s characteristic smile came to his lips again. He pulled the blade back, instead lifting it over Fíli’s head to point at Kíli. “Come here,” he said, motioning with the knife.

“No,” Fíli said firmly, shaking his head. “Punish _me_! It was my idea!”

“Quiet!” Kerán bellowed. “Step aside. Or I will walk out that door and won’t come back for a couple of days! How would you feel about that?”

Heart beating rapidly, Fíli turned to see his brother’s face of barely composed terror, but with a resolute braveness which Kíli had worn many times - when they had been attacked up on the mountains, and even as a young dwarf during one of the village raids by the barbarians from the North. Kíli was strong; he would be able to handle this.

Fíli did not stand aside but allowed his brother to circle past him as he walked towards the man with slow but determined steps. He gave Fíli a small pat on the shoulder as he passed.

_It will be alright. It is just pain._

When Kíli stopped in front of him, staring up with an apprehensive glare, Kerán kneeled down. Much to both dwarves’ surprise, he placed the knife down on the counter behind Kíli. He then raised both hands to Kíli’s face and Fíli felt the familiar horror from before creeping up his spine.

Kíli seemed to realise what was happening too and his eyes widened. He leaned away, eyes darting wildly, but his back was up against the counter and Kerán’s hands were on either side of him.

“Stop,” Kerán said gently. “Stop trembling like a baby deer.” He leaned forward, his fingertips only softly skimming the skin of Kíli’s cheeks, “So beautiful…” he mused.

Fíli could feel the tremors wreck through his body and his jaw tightening with nausea. He wanted to run forward and wring this man’s neck, grab that dagger from the counter and plunge it into the man’s stomach with all his strength. But he couldn’t. Kerán would kill them both, he knew it.

_Oh, by the gods. Please…_

Kerán tilted his head slightly, closing his eyes and with the utmost tenderness drew his own lips across Kíli’s, sighing deeply. Kíli held still, eyes wide as the man ran his hands up into his hair.

 Fíli hoped for a moment that it was over - that the man would be satisfied and turn away. But he wasn’t.

The hands began to move, closing around handfuls of Kíli’s hair and with a sudden ferocity, Kerán attacked Kíli’s lips - opening his own mouth and prying at the unresponsive lips with his tongue.

Kíli made a sound between a groan and a whimper, raising his hands to push at Kerán’s shoulders. The man broke the kiss with a moan and suddenly he had Kíli by the throat, squeezing. “I am not hurting you,” he snarled. Kíli writhed, clawing at the hands on his throat. He opened his mouth, trying to gasp some air and Kerán took the opportunity to close his own mouth around Kíli’s, hungrily exploring. Kíli’s eyes unfocussed and his arms dropped to his sides.

“Stop!” Fíli screeched. “He can’t breathe!” All consequences forgotten, Fíli darted forward and managed to shove the man away, only just catching his brother before he sank to the floor, spluttering and wheezing.

The man stepped forward again, but thankfully didn’t raise a hand at either dwarf. He simply smiled, licking his lips as if to relish the sensation.

“He’s good,” Kerán remarked, grinning at Fíli in delight. “Tell me, do you fuck him every night? Must be so good.”

Fíli blinked up at the man in horrified bewilderment. “You almost killed him!”

“No,” Kerán replied softly. “ _You_ almost did.”

With that the man took the knife from the counter and the lantern from the table. He gazed down at Kíli one last time before turning and heading out the door.

Kíli was still coughing when the door closed and the room was pitch black once more.

-000- 

Morning brought a day of rain and when Kerán entered carrying two plates of food all the way to the back room, neither dwarf spoke or even moved. Fíli sat against the wall next to Kíli who was curled up in the corner, the red handprint around his neck clearly visible.

“Food,” the farmer stated quietly, almost apologetically, as he put one plate in front of each dwarf. Neither offered any words of acknowledgment and the farmer turned to leave. He glanced back at the last moment, meeting Kíli’s weary eyes.

“I… I’m…” he began, but Kíli turned away, averting his gaze to the wall. Swiftly, the farmer left through the door, locking the gate but leaving the door cracked open.

Even as Fíli began to eat the plate of bread, cheese and generous portion of meat, Kíli did not move. Fíli noticed that while the plates had nearly identical contents, there was one small addition to Kíli’s – a tiny cornflower bloom set on the edge of the plate.

TBC


	5. Payment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, those warnings still apply!*

The rain finally stopped around midmorning although the clouds were still heavy with the promise of more. Kerán was at the door with a wheelbarrow, handing neatly chopped logs through the gate to Kíli, who in turn handed them to Fíli to stack inside the forge. There was no conversation and Fíli noticed how Kíli would subtly flinch away every time Kerán’s hand neared his when taking the pieces of firewood. Fíli would have gladly been the one to stand near the gate to be handed the wood - if only to keep a distance his brother and the farmer - but due to the way their chains were linked on the rail, Kíli’s in front of his own, it would not have worked and Kíli would not have been able to reach the forge without tangling the chains. So instead Fíli kept a watchful eye on the interaction. With his arms full of firewood, the farmer looked remarkably like he had the first day they had met him – when he was simply a friendly face to them, a potential friend even, and not their captor and tormentor.

Once the last log was stacked, Fíli turned and his heart momentarily jumped to his throat when he saw Kerán pull not one but three knives from the bottom of the wheelbarrow. To his relief and confusion, the farmer handed all three knifes to Kíli.

“Those are what you are going to be making,” Kerán said. Kíli frowned, inspecting the blades and when Fíli approached, handed him one of them. Fíli turned the small knife around in his hand – it was by far not comparable to his own knifes he had grown accustomed to – much simpler in design and crudely forged – more resembling the blades used on farmlands and on fishing boats rather than a weapon of esteem.

“They’re different sizes,” Kerán continued. “Quite easy to make - the previous dwarf managed to make at least two a day, sometimes three.”

“Where do we get the iron?” Fíli dared, still deliberating the knife in his hand.

“I’ll bring some around in a while – I collect discarded iron items during the summer months. Mostly horse shoes, some broken armour…and then trade them for some iron rods in the town.  But first you will need to get a fire going.” He drew a pouch from his pocket, tossing it at Fíli who caught it deftly. “Get started,” he said, taking the handles of the wheelbarrow, steering it back in the direction of the house.

Getting the fire started using the flint from the bag was hard enough in itself since the wood was damp and dense in texture. When at last a sad little fire was underway, Fíli drew his attention back to Kíli who was still standing near the door, staring longingly at what lay beyond. 

“You alright?” Fíli asked cautiously, walking over to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

Fíli sighed. “Listen to me. We may be stuck here for another week before Thorin comes. Best to do what he says until then.” Kíli did not answer. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” he added, squeezing Kíli’s shoulder gently.

“I know.”

Fíli knew his brother hated being placated like that, yet for the time being, he had nothing else to offer. When Kíli shrugged the hand off his shoulder and turned to walk away, Fíli let him. After the ordeal with the farmer the day before, he probably needed his space – Fíli could understand that.

Looking up, something caught his eye, pulling him from his reverie. Getting as close to the door as the chain allowed, Fíli squinted, peering through the gate in the direction of the farm gates. Sure enough, someone was coming down the pathway to the house. Not a dwarf as far as Fíli could make out – but a person nonetheless.

“Kíli! Someone’s coming!” Fíli beckoned. “Look!” Kíli was at his side in a heartbeat, leaning forward. “He’s coming this way!”

It was a man, Fíli could see clearly now. He hoped that the farmer was too busy with whatever he was doing to notice his guest so that the man could get closer to where he was within earshot of the dwarves.

Fíli placed a hand on Kíli’s elbow, “Wait…” he told him. When the man turned the last bend in the pathway, leading in their direction, Fíli could see a blink of light – it was a silver badge on the man’s coat – the badge worn by the lawmen of Bree.

That was enough for him and apparently for Kíli too, for they both started shouting as loud as they could, waving their arms frantically to try to attract the lawman’s attention.

“Help! Help!”

“Over here! Help us!”

At some point Fíli realised that he didn’t even know exactly what he was yelling out, only that he had to make as much noise as possible and hope that the man would notice their distress.

_If the man would only look their way… Just a little more – he had to be able to hear them now!_

“Here! We’re over here!”

Fíli felt his heart sink when he saw the farmer walking up the pathway toward the man, extending his arms. The unknown man walked right into the farmer’s embrace and with that the hope which had flamed up inside Fíli turned to icy dread. He could hear them talking, but from that distance could not make out the words.

Kíli was still shouting, only falling silent when he saw Kerán pointing in their direction, smiling. When they began walking in the direction of the hovel, Fíli began to suspect that this new man might have no intention of rescuing them after all. Even if this man was a lawman, Fíli knew that most of the lawmen of Bree were just as corrupt as the ruffians they had been appointed keep at bay. Perhaps even more so.

Pulling on Kíli’s sleeve, Fíli stepped back. “Come away from the door.” The conversation grew louder until the two men came to a standstill in front of the gate. The other man appeared younger than Kerán, but he was taller and broader. While Kerán was busying himself unlocking the gate, the other man leaned to the side to look past him, searching the room with eager eyes. Fíli took another few steps backward, dragging Kíli with him.

When Kerán opened the gate and stepped aside, the other man entered, clasping his hands together in delight when his eyes fell on the two dwarves standing near the back of the room.

“I see what you mean!” the man exclaimed, looking at Kíli wantonly. Fíli tightened his grip on his brother’s sleeve. “Very nice.” The man’s gaze shifted to Fíli. “The other one too!” Kerán laughed from the doorway.

The sick feeling returned and Fíli’s stomach threatened to expel the little it had in it. He felt Kíli next to him go rigid in response to the man’s words.

“Good for more than manual labour, hey?” the tall man chuckled, turning back to Kerán. “Am I right?”

Kerán, however, did not seem to enjoy the man’s remark. “Let’s go talk inside, Wharin.”

The man gave the dwarves a good long appraising look before turning and following Kerán out the door.

-000-

This new man was worrying to Fíli. He was clearly a friend of their captor – a crooked lawman who probably helped him in his schemes. He was a new player in this game of theirs – and Fíli needed to know who he was and what he will be doing with the information of their whereabouts. The fire was now roaring in the forge – finally driving some of the chill from their bones. Kíli sat on the table, blankly staring at the dancing flames.

When Kerán returned a while later, the other man was not with him. He was carrying an armful of iron rods which he placed on the counter nearest to the door. “I want you to make at least one blade by the end of the day,” he told them. “I’ll come and have a look at it tonight.”

Fíli took the two plates the farmer had brought them earlier that day from where he had stacked them on the table – very deliberately handing them to Kerán. He did this partly because he knew the farmer probably wanted them back, but mostly to remind their keeper that they still needed to eat.

“Who is your friend from earlier?” Fíli asked, keeping his tone polite, conversational.

Kerán raised his eyebrows and took the plates without comment, “He’s the one who is going to go tell the chief of law in Bree about the two dwarves eaten by wolves on the farmroad.”

What puzzled Fíli was the fact that the man did not say it with malice or even smugness. He just relayed the information like it was a sad fact of live. It still stung, though and Fíli could feel himself being overwhelmed by feelings of powerless hate toward the man.

Still he tried to keep his tone respectful, “You will not let us go then?” he asked. “Not ever?”

The farmer casted his eyes down to the floor, and quietly answered, “I can’t.”

There was moment of tense silence after which Kerán took a few careful steps closer to where Kíli sat on the table. The younger dwarf looked up at him with an expression of deep distrust and apprehension.

“I remember you saying that you liked target shooting,” he told Kíli, smiling gently. “How about we have ourselves a little contest tonight?”

-000-

By nightfall Fíli was still busy trying to shape the rod into something resembling the knives Kerán had given them. It was a laborious process, heating the rod over the fire until it was glowing red hot and then trying to shape it using one of the numerous hammers. But the fire was not yet completely hot enough and the tools they had were less than ideal for the job. They took turns at it, but it was soon clear that Fíli possessed a little more skill. At least he could appreciate that they didn’t need to draw the iron from the ores themselves. Both of them were grateful for the pitcher of water the farmer had brought them earlier – the water tasted sweet and fresh.

He still wondered what Kerán meant when he spoke of a contest for that night. He could only hope that it had the most innocent of meanings.

When Kerán came that night they could at least deliver what appeared to be a knife. The farmer inspected the handiwork, seeming not too disappointed, before handing it back to Fíli.

“Still needs to be sharpened,” he said. “I will bring you the whetstone tomorrow.”

Fíli nodded. At least he managed to appease the man thus far. He dreaded to think what other _punishments_ the man could conjure up. Kerán had brought food with him – again on the two plates which he placed on the table, motioning Kíli over from where he was standing in the corner.

“Go ahead. Eat,” he said. Their dinner was porridge and stew – and this time they were even given a spoon to eat it with. There was a moment of hesitation when neither dwarf dared reach for the food with Kerán standing just on the other side of the table.

 _Some kind of trap?_ Fíli asked himself. _Was Ker_ _án going to snatch it away when they try to take it?_

“Come on, now! Have some,” Kerán said in a kind voice. “I remember you liking my stew the last time.”

It took everything bit of self-restraint for Fíli not to scoff at the remark. _The last time they had not been his prisoners_. He mustered some courage and took the plate nearest to him. Kíli followed suit and it took them but minutes to empty the plates, even with Kerán’s awkward stare on them.

“Thank you,” Fíli managed when they were done.

“You’re welcome,” the farmer replied, gathering the plates and walking out the door at a brisk pace, only to return moments later with two bows in his hand – one  Kíli’s and one presumably his own. He had a large quiver with arrows on his back and he held a basket of apples in his other hand.

The dwarves watched with trepidation while Kerán laid out the two bows and the quiver on the table. He placed the basket with the apples on the counter opposite the table, taking out four red apples which he placed on the edge at equal distance from each other. He picked up his bow – larger than Kíli’s but much more modest in design – and waved Kíli over, offering his own bow to him.

“We don’t have large distances to work with, so we will have to make do with small targets for a challenge.”

Kíli approached the farmer hesitantly, glancing back at Fíli briefly before taking the bow, still keeping his distance. With that simple action, some of the life in Kíli’s eyes seemed to return. Kíli’s bow had always been like a natural extension of his arm to him, Fíli thought. Perhaps it gave him back some of his confidence.

“Alright. Best out of three wins,” Kerán declared. “But there should be stakes, don’t you think?”

Kíli did not answer, keeping his face neutral. “How about this: you win then you may ask anything of me which is in my power to give to you. Just ask and it will be yours!”

Kíli still did not react, only raised his head slightly to look the farmer in the eyes. “And if I lose?”

Kerán grinned at him, “Then you may give me whatever you think you should.”

 _There it was_. Fíli was waiting for Kerán to make another pass at Kíli the moment the man had come through the door. It was not like Kíli had any choice but to participate in the game. While Fíli had every confidence in his brother’s skill as a bowman, he still dreaded to think what the farmer would ask of Kíli should he win the game. Or even what he would do to Kíli if he lost too many times.

“I’ll go first,” Kerán declared, grabbing an arrow from the quiver and stepping away from the counter until he had his back up against the opposite wall. The nocked the arrow and aimed. Both brothers backed away from counter and when the arrow was released, it hit the apple to the far right, knocking it from the counter.

Apparently he hadn’t been lying about his archery skills, Fíli thought.

“Your turn,” the farmer called to Kíli. With just a tinge of his quintessential cockiness, Kíli took his place up against the wall, nocking, aiming and shooting in one fluid motion. The apple in the middle exploded as it was impaled by the arrow.

“Very good,” Kerán remarked. “But I’m just getting warmed up.”

They both shot two more times – Kerán ordering Fíli to replace the apples that were hit after every round. Kerán missed on his second shot but seemed only amused when Kíli had another perfect hit. The third time Kerán also managed to completely obliterate an apple, but Kíli’s third shot matched his previous two, winning him the game.

The farmer laughed merrily, taking an exuberant bow at Kíli. “Congratulations! I’m impressed,” he said. “What will you ask of me then?”

Fíli hoped that Kíli had the sense not to anger the man.

“You know what we want,” Kíli replied softly, but meaningfully.

The farmer shook his head. “You know I can’t give you that. Ask something else.”

When Kíli did not answer immediately, Kerán spoke again. “What about I give you back your coats? I dare say you will be needing them soon,” he suggested. After a brief look back at Fíli, Kíli nodded.

“Another round?” Kerán was already nocking another arrow. Kíli won that round too, but only narrowly with Kerán’s luck seeming to have improved. After some negotiation, Kíli got the promise of two blankets from their keeper as a prize. Kerán seemed a little less amused at Kíli’s second win, but quickly suggested that they move on to round three.

Kíli was about to take his final shot, carefully aiming at a particularly small apple when Kerán came to stand very close to him. Fíli watched with unease as Kerán took a strand of Kíli’s chestnut brown hair between his thumb and forefinger, feeling it as if to commit it to memory. At the touch, Kíli startled and the arrow flew from the bow, hitting the underside of the counter instead of what lied on top.

Kerán made a sound that could only be described as a giggle. “My wife had hair like yours,” he said fondly, still running the strand through his fingers.

Kíli pulled his head away.“Your turn,” he said, standing aside.

Fíli knew that if Kerán managed to hit the apple with that shot, he would win the round. With a smirk, Kerán drew another arrow and aimed it at the last ruby red apple on the counter. Fíli’s heartbeat quickened and he found himself praying to the Mahal, harder than he ever had before. _Please, please… miss…_ The arrow found its target with a crunch, sending pieces of apple flying about the room. _No_

Kerán was smiling, running his tongue along his teeth. “Looks like I’m the winner. What will you give me for my reward?” he asked.

Fíli felt the panic rising within him. Kíli was remarkably calm.

“You… you can have the blankets back,” he said firmly, taking a step away from the man who was now approaching him slowly, like one would a frightened animal.

“You know that is not what I want.” Kerán sat down on his haunches, smiling lecherously.

“What do you want then?” His brother’s voice caught in his throat, the sound breaking Fíli’s heart as he was left powerless to save him from the man’s lustful intentions.

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage,” Kerán said. “So how about a kiss?” He patted the index finger of his left hand to his cheek.

Kíli shot a terrified look back at his brother and Fíli never felt more helpless in his life. He knew that interfering now would lead to the man’s wrath coming down on them – probably getting Kíli and himself killed.

“Come now,” Kerán cooed. “It’s not that bad.”

Kíli straightened his shoulders and took the two steps toward the man. Quickly and without hesitation, he pecked the smallest of kisses onto the man’s bearded cheek.

“Is that all?” Kerán asked incredulously. “Do it properly. Here,” he grabbed Kíli’s wrist and drew it across his own neck. “Put your arms on my shoulders.” Kíli complied numbly, allowing the man to arrange his arms to his liking. “Now, like you _mean_ it!”

The man had that dangerous tinge in his voice again and Fíli felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the scene before him.

Kíli leaned in again. But this time the farmer turned his head at the last moment and he caught Kíli full on the lips, kissing deeply and snaking an arm around his waist.

Kíli yanked away, desperately struggling to release himself from the man’s grip. He broke free, only to stumble back and trip over his chain, landing on his back.  Kerán grabbed the chain, pulling it to him as he crawled toward the flailing dwarf.

Fíli rushed forward, reaching his brother in time to push the man off him. He received a hard smack across the face for it, allowing Kíli just enough time to draw his arm back to punch the man right on his broken nose. Kerán fell back shrieking in pain.

Fíli could barely get to his feet before he saw that Kerán now had his bow in his hands, pointing an arrow directly at Fíli.

“Step back,” the man hissed, blood streaming from his nose again and dripping from his chin. Fíli, however, did not move. Kíli sat up slowly, cupping the back of his head in pain.

“Step away from him!” the man yelled at Fíli, now aiming the bow at Kíli. He was seething in anger, murder in his eyes.

Fíli raised his hands and took a few careful steps backward. “Don’t shoot,” he pleaded. “Please don’t kill him.”

“Step away!”  Kerán yelled again. Only when Fíli reached the back of the room did the farmer lower his bow, standing up and wiping at the blood on his mouth.

“Get up,” he told Kíli, who obeyed wordlessly. His bow was lying at his side, but he daren’t reach for an arrow on the table with Kerán’s full attention on him.

Kerán raised his bow again, this time aiming it at Fíli. Yet he was looking at Kíli, daring him with eyes, and finally said, “Strip.”

Kíli stared back at him dumbly. “What?”

“Take off your clothes,” the man repeated. There was silence.

Fíli thought that his heart could not possibly break further, but then Kíli dropped his head in defeat and started pulling at the lacings of his tunic. He clasped the hem and pulled it over his head, exposing yellow-green bruises littered across his chest and shoulders. The room smelled of apples.

It was then, as Kíli stood bowed before Kerán like a martyr, letting his tunic fall from his fingers, that Fíli realised it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Outside, it started raining again.

TBC


	6. Red

Kerán was staring raptly as more and more of Kíli’s skin was revealed. Even though he still had the arrow aimed at Fíli in the corner, the man’s eyes were feasting on Kíli’s flesh. Fíli did not know where to look when his brother began undoing the buckle of his belt. He could not stand to watch the perverse look on Kerán’s face as he watched Kíli undress, but he could not bring himself to look at his brother either. It felt wrong, like he would only be adding to the humiliation Kíli was suffering.

Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the arrow in the bow. He knew that with the farmer being as entranced as he was, he could probably move away from the corner without being noticed. He also knew it would be to no avail. Arrow pointed at him or not, they were still stuck here at the mercy of this man.

Fíli heard when Kíli’s trousers joined the rest of his clothes on the floor. The room had grown dark quite quickly once the sun had set completely and only the cold light of early evening and the small amount of light coming from the farmhouse windows offered any illumination. It was a small comfort to Fíli in a way – Kerán had not brought a lantern with him, which meant that he must have not intended to stay this long. The other reason, Fíli admitted to himself ashamedly, was that he could not really see what was happening on the other side of the table. He couldn’t see the shame on his brother’s face or Kerán’s hungry stare – he could make himself believe that this was not happening.

His little chimera shattered when Kerán released a hitching breath, licking his lips. He lowered his bow slightly, but then quickly raised it again when he realised what he was doing. He gave Fíli an apprehensive stare while moving closer to Kíli who was standing perfectly still, like a statue. The bit of moonlight coming from the windows above rendered Kíli’s skin a shade of pale blue – like marble.

_The statue of a martyr_

Only when he seemed sure that Fíli was not going to lurch did Kerán look down at his prey. More than ever Fíli cursed the chain around his ankle – the small links of iron were the only thing keeping him from murdering the man with his own bare hands. Sure, there were many sharp implements lying around, and yet Fíli knew he would prefer to use his own hands and watch the life drain from the appalling man’s face – just like the life was being drained from Kíli’s,  little by little each day since they had been there. Kerán went to stand right before Kíli, thrusting his hips into the dwarf’s face.

“Unlace me. Slowly,” Kerán ordered and Fíli suddenly realised he was not above begging. Not for his brother.

“Please don’t make him do this.” Fíli could hear the quiver in his own, pathetic voice. “Please, you have already beaten us, starved us… don’t make him go through this too.”

For a second Fíli thought that he might have gotten through to the man. Kerán lifted his eyes to meet Fíli’s and, if only for a moment, Fíli thought he saw genuine guilt there. Then the moment was gone.

“Get on with it!” Kerán hissed down at Kíli. He pulled back on the arrow, poising to shoot. Again the nausea clenched at Fíli’s stomach.

Kíli’s hands went up to work at the lacings of the man’s breeches and even in the meagre light Fíli saw the man’s straining phallus jump free from its constraints.

“Hands on my hips,” Kerán continued, breath quickening. Kíli obeyed. “Now take it in your mouth.” There was a pause. “Now suck.”

Fíli could watch no longer and shifted his gaze to the forge were a few hot coals were still smouldering. He covered his eyes with his quacking hands; he felt his face burn with shame imagining what must be happening right in front of him. He could hear Kerán’s hitching breath and the slow groan that followed. He heard soft, wet plopping sounds. A sharp intake of breath…

“Slowly, now…” Kerán was saying. “That’s it….” he sighed.

The rhythm of the sounds changed and then there was more groaning from Kerán. There was a sharp clatter and, knowing he’ll probably regret it, Fíli lowered his hands, seeing that Kerán had dropped the bow onto the table, leaning back against it on his elbows as the head bobbing at his crotch increased its pace. In sickened awe, Fíli could not tear his gaze away.

Kerán brought the hand covered in his own blood from his bleeding nose to pet the head in front him, threading his fingers through and then knotting in the hair, forcefully quickening the pace. He was keening now, moaning some arrangement of _yes_ and _ah_ under his breath.

“Faster, fuck yes… more…” He was gnarling now, his hand thrusting harder.

There was a sick sound of choking and then spluttering. Kíli was on the floor, heaving and finally retching. His body arched as the tremors ran up his naked body, forcing him to fall forward on his hands to steady himself. Slowly, Kerán straightened up, panting. He grinned down at Kíli on the floor and then his eye caught something on the counter. He waddled over and picked up one of the iron rods he had brought earlier that day, eyeing it gleefully.

With growing horror, Fíli watched him place the tip of the rod amongst the fiery hot coals. Fíli looked over his shoulder at Kíli who was finally sitting up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Before Fíli could conjure some words of warning, Kerán had returned from the forge with the glowing hot rod in his hand. He had Kíli by the hair again and he shoved him back down onto the floor.

He straddled Kíli’s back, pushing the dwarf’s head into the floor stones beneath him. “Mine!” he snarled, and with no hesitation, he pressed the red-hot iron onto the skin of Kíli’s shoulder blade.

“Do you hear me? You’re _mine_!”

Then there was screaming. Fíli could hear his own screams of terror above that of his brother as he dived forward to seize the rod. The rod struck him across the face before he could even reach it and that’s how he found himself lying on the floor beside his brother, blinded by pain as he heard the rod come down another two times hissing onto Kíli’s flesh.

Then it was quiet.

Fíli opened his eyes. Kíli had stopped screaming. He wasn’t moving at all.

Kerán was staring down at the prone form on the floor with an expression of shock; his head jerked to the side to look at Fíli with eyes wide in bewilderment. Abruptly, Kerán shot up, dropping the rod to clang on the floor and grabbing his bow from the table. He quickly gathered the arrows, the quiver and Kíli’s bow from the floor, and darted out the door, slamming both the gate and the door shut with an echoing bang.

It was quiet again.

 “Kíli?” Fíli picked himself up, feeling the warm blood run from his mouth, and crawled over to his brother. Kíli was laying dead still, face turned away and eyes closed. He was breathing, although shallowly.

The burn on Kíli’s shoulder was in sharp contrast to the expanse of his back, but it was distinctive – it was the letter _K_ in the common tongue - a _brand_ etched into his skin.

-000- 

Fíli felt like he had only closed his eyes for a moment, holding his unconscious brother in his arms, when he woke to sunlight on his face.  The horror of the previous night was still coursing through him, making his blood run cold. Kíli was still sleeping, breathing steadily; Fíli had managed to put Kíli’s trousers and tunic back on, careful not to let the fabric touch the blistering flesh on his back. Fíli was exhausted, drained both mentally and physically. But it was morning and morning meant that Kerán would be coming again.

He sat up cautiously as to not wake Kíli and forced himself to stand up. He gingerly touched his fingertips to his face where the strike with the rod had sent his teeth though his bottom lip, and winced. Pieces of apple were still strewn across the floor and, judging by the degree sunshine from the windows, he must have been asleep much longer than he had thought.

His suspicion proved correct when he saw that two bowls of porridge had been delivered, along with their cloaks and two thick, green blankets. The pitcher had been refilled and a pail of lukewarm water and a bar of soap stood next to the basin. Fíli shuddered thinking how close Kerán had to have come to them whilst they were asleep.

He took one blanket off the counter, appreciating the smell of clean wool as it unfolded. He was going to make Kíli a bed in the back room, as far from Kerán’s eyes as possible. He was going to get him cleaned up, feed him the porridge and then let him sleep. To hell with Kerán and the knives – he was going to take care of his brother first. He turned around, intending to wrap his brother in the warm blanket, when he saw something blue lying in Kíli’s outstretched, placid hand.

It was a small posy of cornflower blossoms.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter - it just seemed like the appropriate place to end this one, so I split the original chapter into two.  
> Next chapter: _Cold Sweat_


	7. Cold Sweat

The one thing Fíli was absolutely certain about now was that Kerán was a very unstable man. He was acting as though at the whim of two different personalities: the kind, compassionate farmer and Kerán, the cantankerous, lecherous man who usually came out at night to hunt. The one who took what he wanted by force.

The former personality appeared to have been at work that morning – the man who brought them food and bedding – and the flowers. Fíli concluded that the wilted blossoms lying on the table in the adjacent room were some twisted metaphor for an apology. Yet, somehow that thought made it even worse. The beast inside Kerán had entwined the concept of romantic pursuit with possession – and that made him a very dangerous man.

And unpredictable.

Fíli made it a priority to make sure Kíli was as comfortable as possible. He managed to roll Kíli onto one of the blankets and slowly manoeuvre him to the back room where he bunched his own coat into a makeshift pillow for his brother to rest his head upon. Next he brought the pail of soapy water and a rag over to wash to worst of the week’s worth of dirt, sweat and grime from Kíli’s face and neck. Kíli only groaned softly at the ministrations. Only when he attempted to lift his brother’s tunic to clean further did Kíli protest – whimpering and yanking it back down over his bruised abdomen. It was heartbreaking to see his brother – his usually cheerful, fearless and perhaps a little reckless brother – reduced to the pitiful creature he was now.

How long would it be before the Kíli he knew disappeared altogether?

 Fíli decided not to press the matter and settled for placing the rag dampened by cool water from the pitcher against the burns on Kíli’s back. The blistering wound leaked moisture tainted with blood, especially where the three burns had overlapped near the centre. When Kíli started to shiver, Fíli covered him up with the remaining blanket, bundling Kíli’s coat underneath him at one side to angle his weight off of his injury. When he woke eventually, Fíli urged him to drink some water and to eat most of the porridge and then hushed him back to sleep. Fíli finished the remainder of the food and cleaned himself up as best he could, listening for any signal of Kerán’s approach the whole time. There was a tingle in his throat that did not disappear upon drinking some water and he gulped experimentally. A sore throat was the least of his worries – with Kíli lying injured because of him, having to martyr himself in order to save their lives each time the beast came for him.

If Thorin could see them now, he would not be proud of Fíli – of what Fíli had allowed to happen to his brother.

The day had turned into a chilly, windy afternoon. Kíli had woken up another couple of times - each time panting harshly and with panicked eyes frantically searching the room, only settling down when Fíli shook his shoulders, snapping him out of his delirium to assure him that he was safe. They were alone - for now, at least.

When the crunch of footsteps on gravel came later that afternoon, Fíli hurried to meet the man at the door, not wanting him to disrupt the sanctuary a sleeping Kíli had found curled up beneath the blanket in the back room.

Fíli had to take the long turn about the room, careful that the clinking and scraping of the chain along the rail would not wake Kíli. As the key turned in the lock, he braced himself, wondering which man would come through the door – surely the beast would be sated for a while after the events of the previous night.

_Hopefully_

When the door opened and Kerán peered around the edge with a sombre expression, Fíli breathed a little sigh of relief – this was the man, not the beast. At least for the moment.

“How is he?” the farmer asked solemnly, stepping inside but keeping to the door, only slightly craning his neck to look for the other dwarf in the direction of the back room.

“He’s asleep,” Fíli answered, following Kerán’s gaze, mindful of his tone as to not awaken the beast inside the man. The man craned his neck further, taking a few steps to the side for a better view of the back room.

“He’s hurt,” Fíli added, raising his hands placatingly. “He needs to sleep.”

The man’s face contorted in what could only be called pure, raw contrition. Kerán sidestepped Fíli in front of him, making his way over to the back room and Fíli could only hurry after him, reaching the doorway at the same time as the farmer.

Kíli was still sleeping soundly exactly as he had left him. He was lying on his side, blanket pulled up to his chin and a section hair spilling over the green wool. Fíli was once again made to watch in helpless horror as Kerán kneeled down and leaned over to reach a hand towards the sleeping dwarf. He could envision the terror on his brother’s face if he awoke to find Kerán leaning over him.

The man merely drew the back of two fingers across Kíli’s cheek – carefully, almost lovingly – before standing up again. Thankfully, Kíli did not even stir at the touch.

“He is going to be alright,” the farmer stated, more to himself than to Fíli. “He’ll be just fine.”

Kerán turned and walked back out door, taking the empty plates and pail of dirty water with him as he went.

“Take care of him,” he told Fíli as he locked the gate.

When he was gone, Fíli felt weak with relief and leaned forward onto the counter. The basket with a few more of the apples stood there, and Fíli thought that even if he were starving, he could never handle eating another apple ever again.

-000- 

The following day Kerán brought in their breakfast early, along with some more firewood and the whetstone. Kíli was awake this time, but obeyed Fíli in staying at the back of the room. The man instructed Fíli a bit more on the specifications of the blade and then left, never once looking up to meet Kíli’s eyes.

By midmorning, Kíli was at the forge. He had insisted that he was well enough to work and channelled all his anger into furiously beating the metal into shape. Fíli watched him work with a sort of dazed fascination as he himself sharpened the other blade on the whetstone. By the time he was done, Kíli was still going at it with such vicious ardency that Fíli did not dare offer to take over. Secretly he was glad for it since the tingle in his throat had now evolved into a full-fledged irritation and he knew the sweat he felt on his back and forehead could not entirely be blamed on the heat from the forge.

Instead, Fíli absently toyed with the blade in his hand and then the chisel lying on the workbench. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the stories Thorin had told them ever since they were but dwarflings. He recalled stories of the golden halls of Erebor and the majestic kings of the Durin line and the glorious victories that had accorded them that honour. He himself was part of that line and yet, here he was – not a prince but a prisoner.

More out of frustrated boredom than anything else, he chiselled a pattern into the ugly iron of the knife. It eventually turned out to be his own sigil carved into the hilt of the blade. As an heir of Durin the sigil had been assigned to him from birth and he had always worn it with pride on both his clothes and weapons. It seemed so meaningless now.

Or perhaps not so useless.

Fíli stared at the knife. Kerán had told them that the knives were going to be sold back in the village of Bree. Thorin was not going to return to the village for almost another week and upon finding no message left for him at _The Prancing Pony_ by his nephews, he was surely going to look for them. Perhaps, if he saw a person in the village selling knives, or someone who had bought a knife, with Fíli’s – or Kíli’s - sigil on it, it might - _might_ \- lead him to Kerán and the farm.

Fíli knew it was a very small chance, but he instantly knew he was going to take it. The question now remained: how many blades could make it to the village before Thorin’s return?

-000-

Upon relaying his plan to his brother, Kíli had reacted with the same guarded enthusiasm. He too must know that it was an extreme long-shot, but it at least gave them something to work towards – a flicker of hope in their dark situation.

He and Kíli both worked harder than they had ever before – each blade finished was one more spark of hope. Fíli tasked himself with engraving the blades, alternating between his own and Kíli’s sigils, taking care to do them as neatly and distinctively as possible. By late afternoon Fíli was aware that he was running a fever and he coughed intermittently. Kíli casted him a few worried looks but did not say anything. Fíli knew it was probably his body’s reaction to the change in season, as well as the fact that they were always either too hot when in front of the forge or too cold during the night.

By nightfall they could present five knives to Kerán who seemed more than a little surprised at their sudden vigour for work. Of course, he immediately noticed the carvings on the hilts.

“What are these?” he asked, tilting a knife this way and that to examine the markings.

 Fíli was prepared for the question and answered without hesitation. “They are decorative dwarvish ruins for weaponry.”

“And why would you put them on my knives?”

Fíli was prepared for that one too. “They will fetch a higher price. Y-you said that we must earn our keep here, so if you make more money off these, then we may have some more… privileges.”

“Privileges?” Kerán repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Fíli swallowed nervously. “Like more food, more regular. Perhaps a lantern for the evenings, some more bedding and…so on.”

Of course they would not mind these things, but Fíli prayed that the man would not discover their true motives. But if the farmer truly believed that they were doing it for more food…

After a moment of silence, during which Fíli’s heartbeat had increased rapidly, Kerán finally smiled.

“I have to say I am impressed,” he said. “None of the other dwarves even took the initiative.”

Fíli did not answer, but he allowed himself to relax slightly.

“My friend Wharin will come fetch these at the end of the week for selling. If he gets a better price for them than usual, you will have your lantern.”

“Thank you,” Fíli nodded, stifling another cough, and he heard Kíli echo his words from somewhere at the back of the room.

When Kerán left after delivering their slightly upsized dinner that evening, Fíli surrendered himself to a brutal coughing fit that had him leaning against the table for support. Kíli rubbed his back and poured him a cup of water, insisting that he go lie down. After taking a few bites of the food and making Kíli promise that he would wake him if Kerán should return, he complied.

That night Fíli drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep as his sweaty body shivered. It was painful to breathe the cold air down his sore throat and his stuffy nose didn’t provide much relief either. He felt Kíli beside him patting his forehead with a cool cloth, but it did little to alleviate the heat building inside him.

When morning came, he felt a little better even though his cough had worsened. It was another day of hard work at the forge, the rhythm of the hammer and the chisel only interrupted by Fíli’s violent coughing fits that had him heaving and spitting up phlegm. When Fíli finished the engraving on the third blade, he told Kíli that he was just going to lie down for a few minutes.

He fell into another sweat-soaked fitful sleep accompanied by vivid dreams. He dreamt about the night they were captured and the first time they saw the skeleton lying beneath the table. He dreamt about Kíli, standing in their kitchen back home holding an apple, only to have it shot from his hand by an arrow as he went in for a bite. He dreamt of dragons and fire, but the dragon had the face of a man – the farmer’s face – and it had no interest in gold whatsoever. Instead it held screaming and squirming dwarves in its claws, sinking his teeth into them one by one.

Kíli brought him more cups of water at regular intervals, although he usually only managed to splutter it back up during another coughing fit. When he finally gathered enough energy to open his eyes again, he saw it had to be around dusk.

_He had to get up. Kerán would be coming. He can’t leave his brother alone with the beast._

His body protested his brain's orders to get up and he dozed off again.

 

When he woke again, it was to lantern light and there were voices. He was staring up at the ceiling, not able to bring himself to move a muscle or even shift his eyes.

“Fíli?” That was Kíli and he felt a hand clutching his shoulder.

Then there was another hand on his forehead. “He’s running a fever.” That was the dragon … no, Kerán – it was Kerán, the farmer. “It is infection of the lungs. I’ve seen it before.”

“Can you help him?” That was Kíli again. “You must help him!”

“I’m no healer…"

“But you must send for one! I’ve never seen him like this. He is really sick.” Kíli sounded frightened, his voice high-pitched and pleading.

“You know I can’t do that,” the farmer responded.

“We have to do something! Don’t you have some medicine or healing herbs – anything?”

“Nothing for what he’s got.”

“Then you must go to town to get some!”

Kerán sighed. “It’s after dark. It’s not safe.”

“Please!”

There was silence for a few moments, then, “Why should I? He’s nothing to me.”

“He works for you. We both do. And he’s everything to me.”

“If he dies, I can easily replace him. There are dozens of dwarves asking for work in these parts.”

“No! He’s my brother – you have to do something. I beg of you!”

Another couple of silent seconds. “Make it worth my while, and I will go to town to get some herbs.” It was the dragon again.

“I’ll give you what you want.” That was Kíli. _No_.

“Anything? You will give yourself to me willingly?” The dragon.

No hesitation. “Yes. But help him first – go now, please hurry!”

The felt movement beside him and then he heard the smack of a short kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Just hurry!” And shortly after Fíli heard the door open and close again. Blissful silence once more.

Immediately he felt Kíli beside him, leaning across and placing a heavenly cool hand against his temple. “Hold on. Hold on, help is coming.”

It reminded Fíli of a story he had once heard that ended similarly.

 _The dragon is coming_.

-000-

The slam of the door occurred what felt like seconds later and Fíli felt himself being lifted and a cup pressed to his lips. The steam warmed his nose, but he could not smell anything.

“Fíli? Drink it. It will make you better. I promise.”

Fíli didn’t want to drink. He wanted to sleep.

“Fíli, please…” Kíli’s voice was high-pitched again. It painfully sliced through his foggy mind. It hurt his head. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to sleep. He took a small sip, tasting nothing but warmth. “That’s it. More.”  He took another and another and mercifully, the voice stopped and a hand was on the back of his head, laying him back down again.

The next memory he had was of being lifted up by his armpits again and being propped up against the wall. The cup was at his lips again, and this time he did taste it. It was foul, sharp and earthy, but it at least eased some of the pain in his head. Even through lidded eyes, Fíli could tell it was daytime, but his mind was too tired to think about what that entailed.

Finally, after being endlessly dragged through waves of heat and almost drowning in them, Fíli came to with a mind sharp enough to realize it was night-time again, he needed to use the lavatory, and he was not alone.

He opened his crusted eyelids to see weak lantern light coming from around the corner. 

“Kíli?” he asked, but no sound came out besides a wheezing breath. There were noises coming from the room – scuffling, grunting and thumping noises at regular rhythm.

Mustering all his strength he sat up and disentangled himself from the blanket. He wanted to stand up and he drew his legs up, but his head spun when he tried to lift himself, so he settled for supporting himself on his arms and slowly crawling towards the doorway in the direction of the light and the noises.

For a moment, when he peeked around the corner, he could not make sense of what he was seeing. The legs of the table were in the way, but he saw what was unmistakably Kíli on his forearms and knees, face nuzzled into the blanket spread on the floor. Kerán was perched behind him, both arms around Kíli’s waist, drawing him in and out of his lap at a languid pace.

Then sickening realization dawned on him.

Fíli quickly retreated back to his corner like the coward he was. He only barely made it there before throwing up tiny pieces of leaves inside a clear sea of bile.

-000-

They didn’t talk about it. Not when the keys clinked in the gate and Kíli came to sit with him and not when Kíli eventually drew a blanket over them and took him into his arms. Kíli smelled different, he smelled like Kerán and for the first time Fíli was grateful for his stuffy nose.

When at last Fíli couldn’t take it anymore, he crawled from his sleeping brother’s embrace and stumbled over to the other side of the forge in the main room. He sat down on the rail and for the first time in decades, he silently wept. He wept for their situation, for the loss of Erebor which had led to it and for having failed at protecting his brother.

When he finally had no more tears left, he just sat staring at the wall where the dwarvish runes were still barely visible on the wall. Apart from the one for water, the others were not discernible at all. However, the last one did look suspiciously like the ancient rune for the direction _downwards_.

Strange, Fíli thought. If someone wanted to indicate _down_ , why wouldn’t they just draw an arrow? It would certainly have been easier to understand than the ancient dwarvish runes.

_Unless they didn’t want just anybody to understand them…_

Fíli looked down at the floor in front of the wall. It looked like any other part of the floor – smooth stones puzzled together and compacted with dirt. None of them looked particularly interesting except that one was wet, the spot where the roof leaked during a rainstorm.

_Water_

Fíli drew his hand along the edge of the stone, but it seemed just as sturdily embedded as the rest of them.  His chisel was conveniently lying on the counter to the side and Fíli used the sharp edge of the tool to dig in beside the rock, lifting it. When he could get a good grip, Fíli pulled the stone up and out of the floor. The removal of the stone did not reveal more rock, but instead a neatly carved out hole containing a bundle of leather. Fíli could not put the stone down fast enough, and ended up dropping it loudly onto the floor. He reached for the bundle and when he took hold of it he nearly ended up dropping its content as well since it was so smooth, sliding inside the soft leather clasped in his hand. He threw the edges of the cloth open and immediately a brilliant glitter was revealed, throwing shimmering rainbows across the adjacent walls.

It was an opulent, white jewel about the size of Fíli’s fist and it was heart-wrenchingly beautiful – it was like someone had captured all the light of the stars and the moon, locking it inside a faceted glass cage for the world to behold. It was so entrancing that, for the briefest of moments, Fíli could forget that his brother was raped and that he himself was sore and sick.

When Fíli could tear his eyes away, he looked at the dusty blanket in the corner holding the skeletal remains of the room’s mysterious previous occupant.

_Who was that dwarf?_

TBC


	8. Worth

“What is that?” Then after a moment, “Fíli?”

It was Kíli standing in the doorway, leaning heavily against its stone frame. Fíli could just witness this from the corner of his eye since his gaze was still locked on the precious jewel in his hand, entranced by how the tiniest shift of his palm would have the specks of rainbow on the surrounding grey walls chase one another. Upon noticing Kíli’s approach, Fíli was surprised at his own sudden childish impulse to hide the jewel behind his back.

With a quick glance at the upturned rock and the hole in the floor, Kíli dropped to one knee beside his brother and slowly used all ten fingers to lift the jewel from Fíli’s open grasp. Kíli beheld the jewel with the same engrossed fascination Fíli imagined he himself must be at that moment.

A giddy smile broke across Kíli’s lips – the only genuine one in such a long time that it startled Fíli out of his momentary trance. “You just… pulled this from the floor? Perhaps there are more!”

“No!” Fíli heard himself protest, reaching to cover the jewel with one hand. He looked over his shoulder, now painfully aware of the door and the man who could come through it at any moment. “We must put it back. Here,” he handed Kíli the piece of cloth. “Wrap it up and put it back!” he ordered.

“But we… there’s…” Kíli started to object before having the jewel taken from him, bundled into the ragged cloth and shoved back into its hiding place. Only when the stone had been put back in place did Fíli speak again.

“Kerán,” he said by means of explanation. Kíli nodded but kept staring sadly at the face of the stone in the floor. Fíli pushed down on the stone a last time, making sure its edges blended with the rest of the floor stones and then wiped some dust and wood splinters over, distributing it evenly over the area that had been disturbed.

Grabbing Kíli by the wrist, he pulled him to the back room, casting a suspicious eye to the door. Once there, he placed his hands on Kíli’s shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

Different emotions flitted across Kíli’s face so quickly, but he composed himself after only a moment. With a small smile, he answered, “I’m fine.” When Fíli only shook his head in silent misery, he added, “Really. It’s alright.”

There was a long meaningful silence after that. Fíli could not bear to put the feelings of anger and defeat raging inside him into words. Instead, he pulled Kíli into a heartfelt embrace.

When the farmer’s footsteps came crunching down the footpath just a little while later, Fíli was resolute in his decision: he would do whatever needed to keep them alive until Thorin came. Kerán’s friend will be taking the blades they had forged to Bree that day – each of them a silent cry for help – and Thorin would come.

_Thorin will come._

-000- 

Even after the third time Fíli had explained how he had found the jewel, Kíli still did not let the matter go - badgering at Fíli to allow him to look at it just once more. Fíli had to admit to himself that he also craved another look at the gem, but he still argued that they needed to be careful – it was too dangerous to take the jewel out in broad daylight as the farmer could come through the door without warning.

Just as Fíli had expected, the monster had seemingly turned back into a man overnight. He brought them a large breakfast, inquiring after their health and wellbeing. Kíli avoided eye contact, leaving Fíli to answer the farmer’s redundant questions. At Fíli’s casual mention that the reason for this is that his brother’s neck was hurting, Kerán practically leaped at the opportunity to fetch him a pillow from the house. He also brought a bouquet of cornflowers along with their regular water pitcher. When Kíli did not take the flowers when offered the farmer simply placed them on the counter next to him and turned to leave.

“Wharin is picking up the blades at sundown,” he said while locking the gate behind him.  “Have ‘em ready.”

Wanting to make use of the farmer in his generous state, Fíli called after him, “Wait!” Kerán, clearly astonished, quirked an eyebrow in response. Fíli gulped and mustered the courage to ask the question both he and Kíli had burning in their minds since they had discovered the jewel.

“The dwarf who was here before us,” Fíli began, trailing his eyes to the bundle of bones in the corner beneath the counter. “Who was he?”

Fíli was prepared for the possibility of the man lashing out at them for asking the question, or even for him to taunt them about it. But once again the farmer surprised them with the sadness in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to his feet, fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

“He came asking for work, just like you did.” He stopped momentarily before continuing in a smaller voice, “He said he was travelling to the mountains, looking for his son. Said he had to give him something important. ”

It was Kíli who broke the silence that followed. “Why did he die?”

Kerán still did not lift his gaze when he answered, “He had to. I couldn’t keep him after the winter. It was planting season and the field labourers was about to return – couldn’t risk him being found here…”

“So you killed him?” Kíli interjected, “After he worked for you all winter?”

Fíli felt the all too familiar feeling of cold panic creeping up his spine. The farmer seemed to cringe at the tone of accusation in Kíli’s voice.

 “No…” the farmer wiped at his face and frowned. “I just…I… closed the door.”

“And you left him here to starve!” Kíli was now approaching the gate, fists clenched in anger. “Does the life of a dwarf mean nothing to you?” Kerán cringed further as Kíli continued. “You would capture and then kill a dwarf each year for the sake of a few coins?”

There was a moment of apprehension when the farmer remained quiet. Perhaps he would decide them not worth it and close the door on them right then, Fíli thought.

“I’m sorry,” was Kerán’s only response when he walked away.

-000- 

Fíli was quite impressed that by the fact that they had nineteen blades in all the different sizes to offer by dusk and he had placed them on the edge of the table nearest to the door. Kíli was sitting on the counter next to the farmer’s pitiful apology bouquet, taking great delight in plucking each little blue flower from the stems and casting them into what remained of the fire in the forge. From what Kerán had said earlier, Fíli knew they had only until spring to escape. He was certain Kíli knew that too.

The sun had not completely set when the farmer and his friend walked up to the gate. They were both carrying lanterns and Kerán had a thick coil of rope on his belt. The man called Wharin was searching the inside of the room with eager eyes while Kerán unlocked the gate.

Once inside, Wharin lifted his lantern to cast more light onto the two dwarves in front of the forge. Fíli was more than aware of how Wharin was looking at them with the same bemused wanton lust as Kerán had done before.

“Bring me the blades,” Kerán ordered.

Fíli pointed at the neat stack barely an arm’s reach away from the two men.

“Bring them _here_!”

Jumping at the sudden dangerous impatience of Kerán’s demand, Fíli obeyed, keeping a firm hand on his brother’s chest as he edged past him and towards the table.

Fíli shuddered under the two men’s stares as he neared them. He gathered the heap of metal into his arms and extended it to Kerán, keeping a watchful eye on the man to his left as he stepped within reach.

“There, there,” Wharin cooed in a way one might try to placate a nervous colt, “Put them in here.” The man kneeled down and opened a satchel hanging around his waist.

With a stealing inhale of breath, Fíli took a step forward and dropped his load into the satchel, aware of how close this action brought his face to the man’s own. The man was smiling.

“How many?” Kerán asked.

“Nineteen,” Fíli answered as he stepped back. Wharin got to his feet and slung the satchel from his shoulder, dropping it behind him with a metallic clang. He then looked over at Kerán.

“You promised,” he taller man said. Kerán did not look at him, but nodded.

In the few seconds it took Fíli to react, it was already too late. Wharin had grabbed Fíli’s shoulder in an iron grip and drew him close, wrapping a second arm around the dwarf’s throat. Fíli’s instinct to fight back was thwarted when he saw that Kerán was backing Kíli into a corner at the opposite end of the room. When Kíli dashed to get around him, Kerán caught his arm and swung it behind the younger dwarf’s back, ripping a scream from Kíli’s throat.

“What are you doing – let him go!” Fíli squirmed in his captor’s hold, trying to pry the man’s meaty arm away from his throat. Kerán had both Kíli’s arms behind his back now, using the length of rope on his belt to secure them. Once done, the farmer dragged Kíli over to the forge, pinning the dwarf against the anvil as he looped the rest of the rope around it. Kíli’s struggles were wild and desperate – not the strategic battle skills Kíli usually used to defend himself.

When Kíli was effectively tied to the anvil, Kerán stepped back and dusted his hands.

“You remember the deal,” Kerán said to Wharin, “The dark-haired one is mine. Be done by sundown.” With that he walked past the dwarf flailing in his friend’s grasp and out the door with no further words.

Fíli vaguely registered that Kíli was calling out his name. Being so petrified with panic, Fíli could not offer much resistance as he was dragged and shoved to the backroom. With the dwarf still in a chokehold, Wharin kneeled down behind him. Kíli was still screaming and cursing from the other room.

Fíli used all his strength to thrash in the man’s hold, but the man was strong and the arm around his throat constricted and cut off his air when he tried to buck in the man’s grip.

“Shhhh,” the man spoke softly into the dwarf’s ear. “It’s alright. Don’t fight.” The words only had Fíli renew his struggles.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Let me go!” Fíli rasped out, digging his fingernails into the offending arm.

“As soon as you relax, I’ll let go,” the man said. His voice was even, calm.

When Fíli finally sagged in the man’s arms, he was released. Crawling on all fours away from the man, Fíli groaned when he felt the man follow him.

“There there, now. Wait…” Wharin had a grip on his ankle now.

“Don’t do this,” Fíli heard himself plead. “Please!”

“Just listen!” the man demanded. “I have a proposition for you.”

-000-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the long delay - thanks for sticking around! Promise updates will be coming more regularly now. I'm forever trying to improve my writing - tips, critique and opinions are greatly appreciated! Hope I don't disappoint!*


	9. Portrait

_A proposition._

Fíli felt the dormant nausea inside him stir at the words. Ever since they had the misfortune to end up at that farm they have been forced to endure horrific things at the hands of one man – and now another has managed to get his claws on them.

Fíli’s thoughts flashed back to a time many years ago; he and Kíli were playing in a garden. He could not remember which garden or exactly where, but the memory was altogether vivid and compelling. Armed with stick-swords and handfuls of mud, they took turns at being the dwarf-warrior and the other the monster being slain. Sometimes the monster was a dragon – but dragons could fly and definitely wouldn’t be fighting with a sword. So the monster took on the shape of something else – smaller, but every bit as cruel and hateful as a dragon… and now, curled up on the floor of his man-made prison with this monster’s hand on him, Fíli didn’t even have a stick to defend himself with.

“See?” Wharin’s surprisingly calm voice jarred him back to the present and at the same time he felt the man’s hand leave his ankle. Fíli quickly drew his leg closer to himself and when no other touch was forthcoming, he snuck an apprehensive peek at the man.

The man was sitting back on his heels now, his hands open and placating at his sides, showing them bereft of weapons. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said steadily. “Or touch you…”

Kíli was still shouting, grunting and cursing from the other room, so Fíli doubted that his brother could hear the man’s words. Not trusting those words one bit due to past experiences with men and the current unbalance of power, Fíli could only ask, “Why?”

“I will help you,” was the man’s reply and with the same steady motion, the man unhooked a small pouch from his bag and held it out in front of him. When Fíli didn’t respond, he slowly placed it at the dwarf’s feet. “A token of good will,” Wharin explained.

With eyes never leaving the man’s face, Fíli leaned over to inspect the little pouch. Upon releasing the drawstring, Fíli almost didn’t need to see inside to know what it was since he recognized the distinctive smell instantly.

“Herbs for the pain,” Wharin explained anyway. ‘Yes, the rare and expensive sort too…’ Fíli added silently.

“I know you must have need for it in here…sometimes…” Wharin let the sentence hang, seemingly certain that Fíli would know the implication. He did of course.

Kíli’s shouts from the next room had quieted down a little.

Carefully placing the valuable bag back down, Fíli drew a deep breath and asked the inevitable question.

“What do you want?” Fíli had to put conscious effort into keeping his voice steady. Surely the man must know how little they had left to give at that point.

Wharin let out a small breath of relief, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled a little. Apparently he was confident that he had succeeded in snapping the dwarf out of his panicked frenzy.

“In exchange for my help in getting you out of here – your trust,” Wharin answered; his voice was a little more animated now, friendlier. “And your cooperation, of course.”

Upon Fíli’s blank stare, the man sighed and shifted his weight to cross his legs beneath him. There was several seconds of pregnant silence before he spoke again, this time at eye-level with the dwarf. This time his voice was grave, serious and almost a bit hesitant.

“I suppose I need to tell you something first – and I need you to listen carefully.” Fíli gave a curt nod and the man continued. “Mae is my younger sister - by my father, that is,” he began.

Fíli was confused at where this seemingly random story was going to go, but only for a moment. “She married Kerán when she was just seventeen years old. She didn’t want to.” Fíli immediately recalled the portrait of the young woman with the long hair in Kerán’s house and was surprised at the sudden feeling of kinship toward this woman who was apparently also an unwilling guest.

“Her mother made her marry him after my father died – for his wealth and land, of course. She didn’t want to.” With Wharin repeating that last sentence, Fíli could hear the sadness and regret in his voice.

“You must have heard about her by now…” Wharin looked at Fíli questioningly, prompting the dwarf to nod hesitantly. They had never heard her name before now, but sure enough the ghost of this woman was haunting Kerán’s mind. Fíli shuddered at the memory of Kerán caressing his brother’s hair that one terrible night not too long ago.

“I think everyone knew that Mae wasn’t exactly happy with Kerán, but she was content at least, I think. And I’m sure he did love her in his own way – he took good care of her – had gifts sent for her from town regularly and gave her flowers nearly every day. Fifteen years ago, Mae’s mother died a rich woman and later that year was when the rumours in town began.” Wharin looked up, perhaps making sure that Fíli was still listening, before dropping his gaze to his hands again.

“Folk in town were saying that they were seeing Mae around town during the night. Everyone knew that Kerán forbade her from leaving the farm.” He stopped for a moment, now picking at a piece of straw on the floor. “They… they said there was… _someone_ with her… that they were holding hands…and…” Wharin stopped and drew a hitching breath. “It wasn’t long before the rumours reached Kerán…” Fíli knew the next sentence even before the man spoke it. “He was furious.”

Fíli could well imagine what happened next.

“I remember the healer in town telling me how he had gotten to her just in time … how she had almost died from her ‘horse-riding injuries’.” He said the last bit with a sharp bite of sarcasm.

Kíli had gone silent now, perhaps he was now listening too.

“For another couple of years everything seemed fine. Good even. When the news reached town that Mae was with child, Kerán was overjoyed.” He paused and smiled as if at a sad, but fond memory. “Mae too. He brought her to town a few times thereafter, showing her off. He even gave away carriage-loads of fresh vegetables to the people of Bree. He had a special lambskin coat made for her by the finest tailor and had the best healer visit her once a week.”

The expression on Wharin’s face changed to something darker. “Until the time came when the babe was due.” He was sniffing away a small sob at this stage, and Fíli could almost feel a tinge of sympathy for this man.

“The midwife never made it back to town that evening. They found her bloodstained clothes just outside town – attacked by a pack of wolves during the night,” Wharin said with great reverence and Fíli immediately understood.

“It was weeks later when Kerán came into town, looking haggard to say the least, only to tell how his wife and child had died the night of the birth due to… complications.” Wharin scoffed, “Of course, I knew it wasn’t true.”

Fíli watched the man in front of him, now seeming so vulnerable and finally asked, “How did you know?”

Wharin looked at him, eyes tearing at the edges. “Mae had confined in me during the months leading up to the birth. She told me that she had never stopped seeing her lover from years before… how he came to the farmhouse during the day to visit her when Kerán was out with the workers in the fields.”

The pieces of the puzzle finally coming together in Fíli’s mind, he asked, “He killed her because the child wasn’t his?”

“Yes. Partly that, and partly because of what the child was.”

Fíli frowned, “What do you mean? What was wrong with it?”

Wharin did not answer. Instead he stared at Fíli meaningfully and raised his eyebrows at him. Finally,  Fíli understood.

“The child’s father was a dwarf, wasn’t he?”

Wharin nodded, “Yes. And not only that - he was a dwarf lord. Splendidly wealthy too, and they had been planning to elope after the baby was born. ” Wharin sighed, for eight years they had kept their love a secret, and when it mattered most, he was too late to save her.”

It all made a lot more sense to Fíli now - why Kerán hated dwarves so much and his strange fascination with Kíli who apparently somewhat resembles his wife. He probably thought he was taking revenge on the dwarf who made him angry enough to kill his wife, but instead is now confused when a dwarf actually stirs up old feelings inside of him.

“Kerán withdrew from town after that, he barely has any friends left accept for me. He was my sister’s husband after all and he saved me from trouble a couple of times when I was younger. But he never talks about my sister or how she died. I knew he was keeping dwarves here against their will and still I did nothing. But I can take it no longer. He barely lets me in the house after Mae’s death and I know he is hiding something.”

Wharin suddenly straightened up, the sadness in his eyes now replaced with determination. “That is why I need your help,” Wharin said. “I need to find out what really happened to her, how she died and where she is buried. I feel that my soul would not rest until I learn this.”

Fíli hesitated. He knew this was where the pivotal moment of the proposition Wharin was trying to make. “What exactly do you need us to do?”

“Find out what happened that night and where my sister is now. He won’t share his secrets with me, but he might tell you since he intends to kill you as well, eventually.” Fíli winced at Wharin’s words and matter-of-fact tone.

“How do we do that? You know how Kerán is – he would just as well beat us before doing us any favours.”

“I do know him,” Wharin replied. “I know how dangerous he is. I also know that he has never spoken about any person, much less a dwarf, the way he speaks about you and your brother. I am sure you can find a way to the truth if you… play to your strengths.”

Fíli felt his throat tighten. “Strenghts?”

“Obey him, flatter him. Gain his trust and affection,” Wharin answered. “Kerán is many things but foremost he is lonely.”

Fíli gulped, he couldn’t think of a way he could betray himself that way or how Kíli, who has already suffered so much, could do it. “And…” Fíli took a deep breath, “In return?”

“Once I learn the truth about my sister, I will set you free. I will give you what you need and more for your journey home – wherever that might be.”

“And Kerán?”

“I will make him pay for what he did. I will take him to the site of my sister’s gave and spill his blood there. And after, I will take this farm as my own and make sure no evil comes from here ever again.”

After his ambitious speech, Wharin extended a hand toward Fíli, “Are we in agreement?”

“How do I know you will keep your word?” Fíli dared to ask, eyeing Wharin’s hand sceptically.

“Because I don’t want any more suffering on my sister’s part. I want her spirit to be at peace,” Wharin answered simply. “And also I can assure you that you have no other choice.”

Fíli knew he only had a moment to decide, but when he too lifted his hand to shake that of the man in front of him, he knew he had made the only decision he could. He was choosing to survive.

With that done the man stood up and craned his neck to look at the door nervously. “He should be back any minute now. It would be in both our interests if you act like what happened here was what you initially expected, alright?”

 Fíli nodded, “Yes, I will.”

Wharin smiled politely and turned to leave, poking his head back through the doorway to say, “I need not remind you that you only have until springtime. After that, I can do nothing for you.” And with those dooming words, he was gone.

Fíli heard Kíli call his name from the other room and he suddenly felt very tired. He forced himself onto his legs and steadied himself against the wall, his head swimming with thoughts.

The most urgent thought was of wanting to hold that jewel again, which was still safely hidden beneath the floor stones. That beautiful, perfect, precious jewel that would make him feel better and give him strength to carry on with what must be done. Holding that jewel made him feel important, special and most of all, strong. He had to hold it, even if only for a while. He needed it.

But he couldn’t do that right now because Kíli was still tied up and complaining about it.

‘But with Kíli out of the way he could hold the jewel in private for a couple of minutes,’ some part of his mind reasoned. Momentarily shocked by his own thoughts, Fíli shook his head, silently blaming the lack of fresh air in their prison for his insane thoughts. He bent down and pocketed the pouch of herbs Wharin had given them.

Of course he will untie Kíli first; his poor brother must be frightened.

-000-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: _Devotion_


	10. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where to begin - I am terribly sorry! I suppose I finished the story in my head and was content at that. That is not a good excuse - and I hate unfinished work - I have new resolutions to finish this. Thank you for still sticking around! :)

_How dare you?_

Not counting the brief sigh of relief upon Fíli’s assurance that he hadn’t been hurt, those were the first words Kíli spoke, or rather spat at Fíli after being released from the rope binding him to the anvil. Fíli barely had the chance to relay the information and Wharin’s proposition before Kíli went off in a frustrated fury, shouting profanities and swinging fists at inanimate objects in the room.  

Only now fully realizing how the full extent of the implications of the arrangement he had with Wharin – a man, and a friend of their captor’s – Fíli was frantically trying to rephrase and to explain to his brother that they had no other choice.

“He is going to kill us coming spring, Kíli! He is going to leave us locked in here to starve to rid himself of us when we are of no further use to him!” he shouted at Kíli who was now at the other side of the room, pacing up and down the length of the wall, dragging his chains behind him, with his hands buried in his hair, smiling some kind of twisted grimace at the floor.

“Please, Kíli! Listen to me! He will help us – he is going to let us go once he knows what happened to his sister. He said-”

“You can’t possibly know that!  You don’t know anything about this man! How do you know if he can be trusted? How can you!”

Knowing that their shouting match will no doubt draw attention soon, Fíli took a few calming breaths and leaned back against the table’s edge, pinching the bridge of his nose while he fought to find the right words.

“You are right,” he finally sighed. “I don’t know Wharin and I cannot be sure that he will keep his word, but here is what I do know. I know Kerán and I know that he will stop at nothing to get what he wants and that he is of little conscience of what will happen to us afterward. Don’t you see? This may be our last chance – our only chance – at getting out of here alive.”

“Thorin will come!”

“But when – and what is he going to find? Two dwarven corpses?” Fíli pointed in the direction of the taboo bundle of bones under the counter. We cannot fight ourselves out of this one, Kee. This is the price that we must pay.”

“That I must pay!” Kíli shouted, slamming his fist into his own chest. “You don’t know what it is like. To feel him touching you…” He crumbled to the floor, looking as broken and defeated as Fíli had ever seen him, shaking his head miserably.

With a heart leaden with the pain he felt as deeply as his own, Fíli went to kneel at his brother’s side, enveloping him in a pseudo-embrace with a careful arm.

“Believe me, brother, that I will not forgive myself as long as I live, but I will not live with myself if I let you die.”

-o0o- 

The bleak winter morning dawned later than usual. The pouch with the herbs had been hidden away along with the precious jewel beneath the floor stones. It had required a great deal of self-restraint on Fíli’s part to not risk a glimpse at the beautiful gem again as he had gently placed the leather on top of it.

Kíli had opted for taking out his frustrations on the battered metal at the forge again and Fíli could only pray that the knives they had handed to Wharin the previous day had found their way to the market stalls of Bree, and hopefully into the light of sight of someone who might recognise their markings.

When the farmer finally came around at about midday with water and their rations, the overall mood between the brothers had quieted down to a purposeful silence. There was not much to be said and even if there was, Fíli wouldn’t risk chipping at Kíli’s already fragile resolve. It was snowing outside now, and the blast of icy wind upon opening the door sent chills down the dwarves’ spines for more than the usual reason.

“Afternoon,” he greeted softly, placing the now familiar tray on the table behind Kíli who was still working at the forge – having not even looked up to acknowledge Kerán’s presence.

 Fíli watched with a growing sense of dread as he saw his brother tighten his grip on the hammer…only to relax a moment after, setting the hammer down and slowly turning to face the farmer.

A brief pause, then, “Hello.”

Kerán seemed every bit as shocked as how Fíli felt, but he composed himself in time – taking his plate and taking a few steps back to eat, standing a little bit further away than he normally would have when the farmer was speaking to Kíli, heart silently racing.

 Kíli looked down at his own plate still on the tray. “You made this?” he asked, indicating the portion of venison pie, surrounded by cooked vegetables.

Kerán seemed confused for a moment, only to answer, “Y-yes, I did. Shot it only yesterday morning.”

 “Looks good,” Kíli nodded kindly. “Thank you.”

Kerán didn’t seem to have a reply to this and could only stammer out a ‘you’re welcome’ as Kíli started to eat as well, deliberately slowly. It was almost comical the way Kerán flinched back when Kíli finally made eye contact halfway through his meal.

“Looks like winter is truly upon us now, isn’t it?” he asked casually, taking another bite of his food, and licking his lips with, what was rather convincingly, sociable interest.

“Ah-h, yes, it is indeed,” Kerán replied, raising his eyebrows at the swirling flakes of snow drifting in front of the high windows above them. Soon enough, his eyes drifted back to Kíli, openly staring at the dwarf who seemed totally comfortable with the farmer having now taken two slow steps closer to sit on the tabletop beside him.

“Are you warm enough in here?” Kerán asked with genuine concern lining his features. Relief flooded through Fíli – knowing that the farmer seemed to have fallen for Kíli’s act.

“The fire keeps us warm enough, thank you.” Kíli managed a small smile when he glanced up at the man.

“You must tell me if you need anything. I will get you _anything_ you need.”

Kíli paused his eating. “You are kind. I didn’t realize this before, but you are. Kind,” he said in a contemplating tone. “You never meant to hurt me. I was foolish, I’m sorry.”

“Of course not,” Kerán leaned forward, placing a hesitant hand on Kíli’s should. “I would never willingly … hurt you, in any way.”

“Everything I need is right here,” Kíli said meaningfully, taking the final bite.

-o0o- 

Kerán slammed the farmhouse door behind him upon entering from the frigid outside, feeling remarkably warm himself. He threw the tray into the wash basin and stormed down the hallway to his bedroom where he had some urgent business to take into his own hands, right past the large main bedroom door which had not been opened for a very, very long time.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: _Submit_


	11. Submit

The next three days had passed similarly for the dwarves. The delicate snowflakes had gradually built up into mounds of white on the windowsills and the small strip of the yellowing grass in the outside world the dwarves were permitted to see through their prison gate.

The nights were long and very dark. Sleeping had become a rare occurrence for Fíli, since the act of closing his eyes seemed to release the impending spawn of demons that come with surrendering his vigilance. Strangely, Kíli seemed to employ the opposite tactic. He appeared to be using the temporary respite from their reality that sleep provided to his advantage. Having worked himself to exhaustion during the day, he would curl up beneath the blankets in the back room, facing the wall, and fall asleep almost instantaneously. Occasionally, if Kerán had left,  he even waved his evening rations in order to seek sanctuary in sleep earlier. This more than anything before, was a clear warning sign that the stress of the situation was affecting Kíli all the more. Thankfully, Kíli seemed peaceful in sleep.

Instead of pity, Fíli felt something akin to jealousy, wishing he too could escape -  if only for a little while. Instead he found a new evening preoccupation.

As soon as Kíli was sound asleep and Fíli was sure that Kerán had done his nightly rounds, he would sneak to the spot where the gem was hidden, holding the length of his chain in one hand as to not have it scraping against the floor and then lifting the floor stone so silently that no sound could be heard above ambient, occasional crack from the fireplace and the howling wind on the outside.

The gem was perhaps not appreciated for its full potential during these visits since the only light was the glow from the fire as they were taking care to conserve the lantern oil. Nonetheless, Fíli would set the pouch of herbs aside and, very carefully, unwrap the jewel from its leather cloth, to revel in the warm light bouncing of the facetted edges, emitting a glint like a spark each time. The jewel itself also felt warm in his hand, like a piece of smouldering coal, and he found himself staring at it for what had to be hours before he would cradle it to his chest and fall into a near dreamless,  pseudo-sleep. He would chastise himself when this happened – if he were to sleep past dawn, Kerán might walk in on him holding the jewel and take it for himself. The thought was unbearable.

The farmer had been delivering more iron rods and firewood which were then stacked against the wall with a measure of precision that was not strictly necessary, adding to the already claustrophobic mood inside the hovel. 

In addition to his usual night time appearances, Kerán had now started having lunch with them inside the workshop in the early afternoons. This included many dire attempts at awkward conversation with the farmer on the dwarves’ part and it was downright painful for Fíli to watch Kíli put up his elaborate facade only to revert to a cantankerous, beat-down version of himself afterwards when the farmer left. Fíli tried to remain as neutral throughout the interactions, which had by then included some friendly touches from Kerán and boisterous laughing at mediocre jests on Kíli’s side, which would have been convincing even to Fíli if he hadn’t known his brother’s true laugh so well.

The conversations remained casual and polite, speaking about trivialities like the weather and the winter activities that were doubtlessly happening in the surrounding villages. Kíli was doing an excellent job of keeping the farmer talking about himself and on day three was now trying to find an opening for introducing Kerán’s wife into the conversation without evoking suspicion in order to set the groundwork for obtaining the important piece of information which would, hopefully, earn them their freedom. It was a surprise when Kerán ended up doing it himself.

“You know, few people know this, but my wife was rather a good horseback rider herself,” he had said during a discussion about racing. “She would go out riding for hours at a time and only come back long after sunset!”

Fíli felt his heart skip a beat.

“Is that so? She sounds like a remarkable lady,” Kíli continued seamlessly.

“She was,” Kerán said after a thoughtful pause, taking a loud draught from his cup of mead.

Perhaps deciding that couldn’t hope for a better opportunity soon, Kíli asked, “You told me she died in childbirth?”

The sudden cloud that had passed over the farmer’s face at the question twisted the relatively calm mood into a tense silence.

“Yes I did,” came the stern reply. He dangles the rim of the cup between his middle finger and thumb before he placed it back down onto the rough wooden surface with a scrape. “Why do you ask this?” Kíli must have realized that it had been too soon to approach the matter. He collected himself fairly quickly.

“No reason,” he said quickly. “I-I just thought that you must miss her.”

Kerán narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two dwarves at the table, before standing up abruptly and starting to gather the plates rather clumsily.  

“If you would pardon me, the pigs need to be fed,” was his response as he snatched Fíli’s not-quite-finished plate from him, adding it to the already haphazard tower of tableware on the tray.

“No, wait! I’m sorry!” Kíli was reaching out a hand to catch the farmer’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought that…that you…”

Uncharacteristic of his usual tactile fixation, Kerán shook himself free of the Kíli’s grasp and made a turn for the door.

“It is of little matter,” he spoke over his shoulder in the general direction of his prisoners. “I am not angry at you.”

With that he left the room, leaving behind two flabbergasted dwarves, Fíli still holding a spoon aimed at empty air.

-o0o-

As much as Fíli did not want to admit to himself, at least of all to Kíli, he was beginning to lose hope of escape. Their first subtle attempt at extracting information from the farmer had been fruitless, although possibly not as disastrous as it might have been if the farmer were to lose his temper again, he thought.

By day four Kíli was permanently wearing an expression of nausea, even when Kerán was not in the room and he would have spells of getting caught up staring into the roaring forge fire so intently that his eyes would start to water at the corners – at least that would be a less distressing explanation Kíli would then put forward for his almost-tears. There was an increasing atmosphere of building tension, as if they were holding back an ever-increasing tide of panic and despair that threatened to flood the tiny building. It had already seeped into their bedding in the back room, preventing Fíli having night’s rest. It had seeped into their clothing, where  Kíli was now wearing his coat like an armour against the ghost touches he would shrink away from unexpectedly at random intervals. It had seeped into their food, which tasted like warm ash despite the farmer’s rich cooking. It had seeped into the floor as well, twisting and turning in between the grooves of the floor stones and spilling into each crevice and festering like a disease.

The only part of the room which was still relatively unaffected by all this, was that one spot in which the treasure Fíli had discovered was hidden. Like a droplet of oil in cup of water, it could be temporarily disrupted by the gushes of panic each time Kerán made an appearance, but never ceased to remain an undiluted beacon of shining beauty and glory in Fíli’s current, miserable circumstances.

 _Their_ circumstances.

Only expecting Kerán’s nightly visit after sunset, both Fíli and Kíli nearly jumped out of their skins when the door was thrown open, crashing into the wall it was hinged to with a reverberating bang. Yet it was not Kerán in one of his violent moods who was responsible; it was Wharin, wearing a large cape and a layer of snow who entered and grabbed Fíli by the forearm, pushing him into the side of the counter with unyielding force.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his wide eyes threatening.

Stunned by the sudden onslaught and the odd question, Fíli was could not fathom an answer before Wharin repeated his question with more force.

“Who _are_ you?”

“What do you…I don’t underst-“

“They are searching for you dwarves all over my town!”

_Thorin_

Perhaps someone had finally identified their sigils on the knives and Thorin had found out. He was probably on his way to Kerán’s farm at that very moment! Fíli managed a glance at Kíli over his shoulder. He too was staring open-mouthed at the man in front of him, but with more life in his eyes than Fíli had seen over the previous days.

“It is our uncle,” Fíli answered, his voice steady with a growing sense of confidence. “He has come back from his trip and is now looking for us. We were supposed to meet him.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Wharin gave Fíli’s arm a violent yank, bending down to shove his face into Fíli’s own.

“I’m not! I told you-“

“Unless your uncle is a scraggly wizard, you are telling me a falsehood!”

 _What_? _A wizard?_

“No, you are mistaken,” Kíli interjected from somewhere behind Fíli. “He is a dwarf - a dwarf lord - and he is coming to get us! You can help us get out before he comes for both you and the bloody farmer!”

Wharin released Fíli’s arm and straightened up, his attention now on Kíli instead.

“It is a wizard,” he insisted. “I saw him with my own eyes, asking about you at the Prancing Pony this very morning!”  He now seemed every bit as perplexed at the dwarves’ apparent confusion.

“It had not been your uncle,” Wharin continued, slightly more collected this time. “I know who enters my town. Besides, dwarf folk are leaving town at the moment, not coming in.”

“Wait. Leaving? Why? Why are they leaving town?” The question was asked by both dwarves simultaneously, only phrased differently, but to the same end.

Wharin gave an expiating sigh. “Suppose you wouldn’t know. Being here the whole time.” He made a vague gesture toward the rest of the room.

“Know _what_?” Fíli asked with urgency.

“The dragon has left the dwarf-mountain. Their king is returning there and all the dwarf folk are following him – going back to live in their mountain caves,” Wharin said with mild disinterest.

Fíli head started to swim with the effort of processing the news. The first emotion he could recognise was disbelief, then exhilaration.

_Smaug is gone? Erebor is free? Thorin must be the new king! Which means he and his brother were now the legitimate heirs to the grandest of the dwarf kingdoms! They had to go meet Thorin! Now more than ever they were needed!_

“You have to set us free!” Fíli found himself kicking his chained leg, willing the chain to disintegrate at the whim of pure determination. “We have to go with them!”

Kíli was pacing a short distance to and fro, speaking to the floor under his breath, before practically attacking Wharin.

“No, no…You have to let us go! Now!”

“You must! Please!” Fíli was unashamed by the pleading tone of his voice.

“Our uncle needs us!”

“He’s the King!”

“If you don’t get us out of here, you will be very sorry!”

The dialogue continued this way until they realized that Wharin was not responding in any way, except to look irritated if not also slightly bemused.

“Is that so?” he said. “I don’t care much for the matters of dwarves. You have not fulfilled your side of the bargain yet. Do you know what happened to my Mae?”

“Who cares?” Kíli shouted at him. “We have to go! It is important!”

That had definitely been the wrong thing to say. Wharin narrowed his eyes and stood taller.

“I care!” he shouted back at Kíli. “You are not leaving until I know what happened to her – I don’t care how you come by the information, just get it! I will help you escape when you can exchange that which is important to _me_!”

The crunch of gravel silenced both ends of the argument. Not long after that, Kerán was at the door.

“Is he putting up a fight?” Kerán asked Wharin. “Trying to defend his brother?”

Wharin shrugged. “Yes.”

Kerán grunted. “Typical. I could get him out of the way for you. Then you can take the other one. ”

“Don’t bother,” Wharin replied, pushing Fíli out of the way on his way to the door. “Don’t feel like it anymore. Useless dwarf doesn’t even deserve a fucking.”

Kerán rolled his eyes, gave Fíli a reprimanding scowl and followed his friend out the door, allowing the first waves of the flood to crash into the room.

-o0o-

The news Wharin had brought had raised a whole new string of questions on Fíli’s mind.

_Was Wharin telling the truth? Was Thorin still coming for them? Who was this wizard looking for them?_

“You _have_ to found out what happened to his wife,” Fíli found himself telling Kíli in the assertive tone he almost never used on his younger brother. “Immediately! We have to get away from here now. We have to go join Thorin-“

“Don’t you think I realize this?” Kíli snapped back. “You know I have tried-“

“You are not trying hard enough!” Fíli was shocked to hear the words come from his own mouth. The betrayal in Kíli’s eyes stung his heart, but he decided that he could spare a few harsh words if it would get them out of there sooner. “I am just saying that you could be doing more.”

The disbelief in Kíli’s voice was evident. “Oh, I could do more? What would you have me do then? Take off my clothes and offer myself to him like a wanton whore? It that what you wish?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what?” Kíli raised his hands to push at Fíli’s shoulders, shoving him backwards. “I don’t see you actively contributing to the escape effort! This is clearly not working!” Kíli wiped at his brow. “I say we focus our attention on Wharin!  Convince _him_ to help us instead.”

“How do we do that? He clearly isn’t going to help us if we don’t do what he wants.”

“We give him something else,” Kíli said.

“Like what?”

Suddenly Kíli pointed to the spot behind Fíli – the spot Fíli was backing up to. The spot he was subconsciously guarding the entire time.

“We bribe him with the jewel,” Kíli explained. “We give it to him in exchange for him to help us escape.”

Kíli took a step forward and Fíli took one to the side, blocking Kíli’s advance.

“No.”

“What do you mean?” Kíli took another step, but so did Fíli.

“You can’t. It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that! Don’t you think it worth the chance?”

“No. He will simply take it and still leave us if we showed it to him. He won’t help us. No.”

Incredulous, Kíli merely shook his head. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what you mean. Just…” Fíli scavenged for words. “When Kerán comes tonight, just ask him again. He will tell you eventually, you just need to push the matter a bit more.”

Kíli didn’t answer. In fact he didn’t speak to Fíli for the rest of the evening.

Night time brought with it Kerán’s visit. He must have picked up on the sour mood between the brothers, for he raised his eyebrows at Fíli not joining them at the table, but sitting against the wall instead, only briefly getting up to fetch his meal before retreating there again, sitting down on the exact same spot.

Apparently Kerán didn’t mind this, and was all too happy to sit alone at the table with Kíli. Fíli watched them warily, but was pleased to see Kíli’s continued act of enthusiasm for Kerán affections. He even reached across the table for the farmer’s hand at one point during the conversation, touching it gently to emphasize some point he was making.

Apart from the glitter in Kerán’s eyes that was twisting Fíli’s stomach, the food we was having was overly spicy and salty, making it almost difficult to swallow. Fíli was quite surprised and disappointed by this since, despite everything Kerán was, he had always been an excellent cook at least.

Nevertheless, he was hungry and had finished half his bowl of broth by the time he could feel that something was not right. He recognised the feeling instantaneously. It was the same deep drowsy feeling he had woken up to that fateful night he and Kíli had been imprisoned.

He had been drugged again, this time something must have been put in the broth, disguised by salt and spices.

With a mind already rapidly being fogged by the effects of the drug, he managed to cast the bowl of remaining broth aside, and bolted for the table to knock Kíli’s barely touched bowl to the floor as well, splashing Kerán in the process.

“Don’t eat the food, Kíli!” he was shouting, or at least trying to, but he couldn’t get past the third word before Kerán had him by the neck, smashing him into the edge of the counter so hard that Fíli could physically feel the bones of his spine cracking.

Fíli could barely make sense of the chaos that followed. Kerán was shouting at him, punching him in the gut with his fist, only stopping to continue choking the dwarf with both hands. Somewhere amidst the lack of air and the effect of the drug, Fíli could hear his brother’s voice – screams of _stop_ and _please_.

When finally the hands around his throat released him, Fíli fell down in a fit of coughs and splutters. Fíli heard more than saw Kerán pull a dagger – Kíli’s dagger – from his belt beneath his coat.

“I’ll do as you say.” Fíli heard Kíli say. “Just stop, please, leave him alone.”

Begging really didn’t suit Kíli, Fíli thought.

"I would have you again tonight,” Kerán was closing in on Kíli now. “If your brother stands in our way, I will not hesitate to get rid of him!’ He pointed the dagger back at where Fíli was lying.

“You don’t have to do that. Please. I will do what you ask!”

“No,” Kerán said, “I will not have you lie with me only to save _his_ life. I know you want me, Kíli, but your brother forbids it. Therefore he must die!”

“No! You don’t have to. I come to you willingly, but you must let him live.”

“You want me?”

Without pause, “I do.”

Fíli could feel his grip on consciousness failing, but he could still make out Kíli’s form in the half-light, approaching Kerán’s slowly.

“Not here,” he heard Kerán say.

“What do you mean?” Kíli asked.

“You must come with me. But first…”

Kerán pulled out a length of rope, also from the depths of his coat. He stalked over to Kíli and bade him extend his arms.

Kíli did so and soon he was trussed up like a game animal, with coils of rope around his waist, arms and legs. Kerán kneeled down to fidget with the chain and it was not long before it fell free from Kíli’s ankle.

Fíli wanted to do something, but the drug had rendered him senseless and the beating left him boneless. He was forced to watch as Kerán carried Kíli out the door over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, kicking the door shut without as much as another look in Fíli’s direction.

With what remained of his strength, Fíli managed to lift the floor stone and dig his beloved jewel from where it was hidden. As he clung to it for dear life, he sank away into deep darkness.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: _Consequence_


	12. Consequence

The first two times Fíli woke, it was still dark outside. The first time, the wave of pain in his stomach and back dawned upon him in increasing increments, until the crescendo forced him back into unconsciousness. The second occurred because of a bout of intense nausea that had him expel the contents of his abused stomach onto the stone floor beside him, choking several times until he could manage to lift himself into a more forgiving position for breathing.

By the third, it was daytime. Judging from the low ambient light, Fíli guessed it to be just short of midday. Even in the dim light, the glittering of the stone in the sunlight – which Fíli did not have the pleasure to see for such a long time – was mesmerizing. He clutched it tighter to his chest. The throbbing pain had somewhat subsided to a deep ache and was replaced with an extreme thirst. From his position on the floor, propped up against the counter, Fíli could see the water pitcher, which had stood on the table the previous night, along with its contents on the floor, broken and useless.

It was perhaps this sight more than anything that forced Fíli to come to terms with the previous night’s events. The eerie, hollow silence in the room served as proof: Kíli was gone.

_His brother was taken, and he could not stop it from happening. Thorin would be so disappointed._

Sat amongst the evidence of the struggle, Fíli saw the chain still hung from the railing on the opposite side of the room.

_Kerán_ _must have had the keys with him then,_ _Fíli thought. He must have come there with the intention of taking_ _Kíli and not to simply drug them to have his way with_ _him._

In his groggy state, Fíli did not know what to make of this conclusion other than that the farmer had deviated from his original plan to simply exploit them for their craftsmanship and some occasional companionship. Whatever his original intension had been, Fíli was sure it did not include this – at least not from the start.

Fíli felt his throat constrict at the thought of what must have happened – might _still_ be happening at that very moment– to Kíli. What would be left of his brother after this? Fíli did not even have a guarantee of ever finding out.

Kíli was also their best chance at extorting the information from the farmer about his wife. Even if Kíli were to succeed, would Wharin risk entering the farmer’s house to obtain it before… Fíli knew that Kíli’s fate was totally reliant on his ability to act out Kerán’s fantasy. Should it fail, Fíli knew that in all likelihood, Kíli would pay the ultimate price. He himself probably even before then should Kerán think him not worth the trouble of keeping alive.

Of all the things Fíli could have expected at that very moment, the one he was least prepared for was the sound of crunching gravel, signalling someone’s ascent up the pathway. The jewel in his hands suddenly turned ice cold as fear twisted his insides. Mind seized by a frenzy of panic, Fíli spun from side to side, the settling pain in his back rapidly reviving, searching for a place to hide his prized possession from whoever was going to come through the door in the following few seconds. With no time to deliberate, he jumped up and flung the jewel inside one of the cupboards in the counter behind him, just managing to turn back around in time to see the door being opened.

It was Kerán – and Kíli was with him.

Kíli looked tired and dishevelled, hands bound before him and being led by Kerán’s hand hooked under his upper arm. But he was not limping at least, or showing any other signs of physical injury. He briefly met Fíli’s eyes and relief relaxed his features only briefly before returning his attention to Kerán who now had the end of the chain in his other hand.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” the farmer said softly, apologetically. To Fíli’s surprise, Kíli held out his leg and allowed the cuff to be secured around his ankle once more. When he was done, Kerán placed a chaste kiss to the center of Kíli’s forehead, the gesture to intimate that Fíli suddenly felt a pang of possessiveness, almost jealousy, at the sight.

“Let me bring you some fresh water,” Kerán said, sweeping up the pitcher from the floor as he walked by it and out the door.

The sudden silence was thick with emotion. So shocked and relieved at seeing Kíli in one piece, since he had not dared to hope of even being allowed to see him again at all, Fíli was at a loss for words. It was Kíli who, finally, spoke first.

“Are you hurt?” So absurd was the context of this question that Fíli could not prevent the cynical chortle in response.

“You’re asking _me_ that?”

“I’m alright,” Kíli said, his voice small. Kíli did not look broken, in fact he looked determined, but most disconcertingly, he looked resigned. The fight in him that had seen them through so many a dire situation up till that point was completely gone. And that was perhaps the least suited to his brother of all. Fíli felt the seed of guilt and regret at their situation bloom into deep remorse.

“Oh, Kíli, I…” Flames of pain notwithstanding, Fíli started to circle the room, making his way over to his brother before-

“No, Fíli! Stay there!” Kíli held up his bound hands in front of him, eyes wide with alarm.

“Look, I am really sorry for-“

“No, it’s not that!” Kíli was looking at the door expectantly. “Just stay there, Fíli. Don’t come closer.”

“Why? What has gotten into you?” Somewhat irritated by Kíli’s reaction, Fíli started up his pace again.

“No! Stay, please, listen to me!” The unexpected ferocity in Kíli’s order was enough to make Fíli stop. “He’s coming back.”

The sound of Kerán’s approach soon followed. Kíli drew into himself, standing absolutely still when Kerán re-entered, carrying the water pitcher and … another spray of blue cornflowers.

Having set the pitcher down, he returned to Kíli, kneeling in front of him and unbinding the dwarf's hands, sliding the flowers into his grasp afterward. Kerán placed his hands over Kíli’s wrists, rubbing at the red welts that were evident as soon as the rope was uncoiled. With the farmer’s back turned towards him, Fíli could just make out his words although it was clear that he was not privy to the conversation.

 “I’m truly sorry for my behaviour,” he told Kíli. “I will be better, I promise.”

“And your other promise?” Kíli asked softly, carefully.

“I’ll keep to it,” Kerán said. He leaded in, whispering something into Kíli’s ear that Fíli could not make out, and then looked back into Kíli’s eyes, who nodded. Finally releasing Kíli’s wrists, Kerán stood back up, and, much to Fíli’s horror, walked over to him instead.

Fíli’s immediate reaction was to ready himself for another onslaught of violence. He cringed at the prospect, his body was already so battered – he was not ready. He could handle that at least, Fíli decided. As long as Kerán does not think to open the cupboard behind him, he could manage. Instead, Kerán stopped a fair distance away, regarding Fíli with a judging concern.

“Can I get you anything to help with…” he indicted Fíli’s abdomen, which he didn’t even realize he was clutching with one arm.

“Uh…” Caught off guard, Fíli was about to decline to just have Kerán leave him alone before realizing that refusal might actually be more suspicious. “Some… snow? Wrapped in a rag?” he wheezed out, clutching tighter. The cold compression might actually relieve some of the swollen heat in his stomach area.

Kerán nodded. He grabbed the bucket from under the table and went outside, presumably scooping up some snow before returning with ice flakes now clinging to the bucket’s rim.

“Better use it quickly,” the farmer ordered. “Then light the fire, it is freezing in here.” With one last look back at Kíli, Kerán left, locking the gate behind him.

Neither dwarf spoke until the sound of footsteps had completely faded. With a groaned sigh, Kíli sank to the floor on his hunches, dropping the flowers and crossing his arms protectively around himself.

“Kíli?” He dare not approach his brother as he had tried to before.

“I’m alright, Fíli. It’s fine,” he said looking straight ahead, past Fíli. “You can come closer, now. He’s gone.”

When Fíli finally did reach him, he didn’t attempt to extend an arm of comfort. Not knowing how it would be received. When no contact was forthcoming, Kíli looked up.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Kíli said. “Didn’t _touch_ me. It’s fine.”

Fíli couldn’t contain his disbelief. “No, Kíli, you don’t have to-”

“I mean it,” Kíli interjected. “He didn’t. He wanted to…but then he stopped.”

“Why?” Fíli asked in astonishment, but then quickly rephrased. “What made him stop?”

Kíli sighed. “I don’t really know. He started to, he tied me to the bed…but, then he said he didn’t like seeing me upset during…He said he didn’t want me in such a state when he took me and told me to calm down.” Kíli shuddered at the memory. “When I didn’t, he promised that he would bring me back here - to you. He wasn’t happy about it, but I made him promise that I could stay here with you during the day. Then at night…” The sentence trailed off with clear implication. “He didn’t take me last night. He just talked and made me lie next to him. For now.”

Fíli felt a small sense of relief. At least it had not been as bad as he had hoped. Not yet, that is…

In a rush of pity for the miserable state of his brother, Fíli sat down next to him and swung an arm around Kíli’s shoulders in affection. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could…”

Suddenly, Kíli jerked. “No. You must not intervene in any way. Kerán, he gets… angry when you try to intervene. Don’t come close to me when he is near. I fear he might…He will hurt you. So just stay away when he’s here, alright?”

So urgent was the tone of Kíli’s voice that Fíli found himself nodding. “Alright.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” Fíli said. “But he isn’t here right now. So…” He drew Kíli to him in a tight embrace and Kíli sagged against him, leaning his head against Fíli’s chest. It was a comfortable silence that followed, each contemplating their role in this desperate act to save their own lives. The bucket of ice had probably completely melted by the time Kíli’s shudders dissolved into even breathing, and Fíli decided that it was best that Kíli got some proper sleep for he was sure that Kíli hadn’t gotten any the previous night. Besides, there was an exigency growing in the periphery of Fíli’s mind to replace the jewel in its proper hiding place. He was angry at himself for having been negligent, risking it being discovered by Kerán. He was about to suggest to Kíli that he go lie down when his brother spoke.

“I think Wharin’s sister is alive,” he said. “And she is inside the house.”

-o0o-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: _Wilt_


	13. Wilt

The sleepy words had been so unexpected that Fíli had to take a moment to let the significance of their implication sink in.  Fíli felt elation and excitement, quickly followed by doubt and scepticism.

_If the woman was alive, did it mean that she was his prisoner just like they were? Did it mean that_ _Kerán was capable of some degree of mercy after all? Had_ _Kíli found the key to their deliverance from the cruel hands of the farmer in a single night? Surely, he was mistaken. Perhaps the stress of their current predicament had finally gotten to_ _Kíli and he was slowly going mad? After all, there had always been talk about a curse of madness that lies upon the line of Durin._

When Kíli, still curled up at his side, did not offer any more information, Fíli decided that no matter how exhausted his brother was after the previous night’s ordeal, he could not leave it at that for now. His words had been too fraught with meaning, brought too much hope to be left unquestioned. He sat up straighter.

“Kíli? Are you sure? How do you know this?”

When Kíli did not answer immediately, Fíli grew impatient. He edged himself away and grabbed Kíli’s shoulders to convey the urgency of his questions. He had to know.

“Kíli, listen. How do you know?” he asked the words slowly, deliberately.

Kíli groaned, but finally lifted his head, rubbing at his eyes. “Uhmm, I heard them speak. I was feigning sleep when Kerán got out of bed. He walked out into the hallway and spoke to her through a closed door.”

“What were they saying?” Fíli asked, excitement growing.

“I don’t know. He said he was sorry and was asking for forgiveness and … I couldn’t really make out all the words, Fíli, I was all the way in the other room!” Kíli was clearly agitated himself.

“How do you know it was her? I mean, do you know for sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. He said her name – _Mae_ – twice. Can you let go now?” Kíli was wincing slightly and Fíli realized that he must be gripping his brother’s shoulders harder than he had meant to. He relinquished his hold a little.

“Do you know what this means? If we tell Wharin, he will set us free! We can then join Thorin; we’ll be the princes of Erebor. Kíli, do you even realize?”

Fíli could not suppress the sheer joy and relief that Kíli’s discovery had brought. For the first time since their capture, the possibility of freedom was within their grasp - pure, untainted and unapologetic hope for the future. Even the magnificence of Fíli’s jewel seemed, momentarily, trumped by the splendid news.

The only blemish in the otherwise perfect revelation was Kíli’s apparent indifference. He was leaning back against the counter, dropping his head back to rest against the rough wood.

“But when?” he asked. He closed his eyes.

-o0o- 

There was no time in Fíli’s mind to deliberate Kíli’s unconstructive commentary. Up to that point, they had been so preoccupied with devising a way to manipulate Kerán into revealing his secret that they had not even planned further ahead. Now that the information had all but fallen into their laps, there were other things that needed to be considered.

The most prevalent was the question of when Wharin would pay them a visit again. And when he did, would he believe Kíli’s story? Most importantly, would he keep his world and release them once he had taken his revenge on Kerán?

Fíli knew that most probably Wharin would not let them go until Kerán was out of the way and his sister was freed, so there would be no point in them lying. Hopefully, Wharin would reason this way as well – and then keep his word. Wouldn’t he?

Fíli expelled the thought from his mind. Wharin had shown no signs of perverse interest in either himself or Kíli. He must know that they would be leaving to join the rest of their race on their journey back to Erebor and they would not cause him any trouble afterward. Fíli would swear to it if he had to. They would be free again; he had to believe it. And in the meantime they would have to endure.

Fíli’s heart clenched at the thought of Thorin who had not come to rescue them. He was sure that it would not have been as a result of disregard for them, since Fíli knew their uncle loved his nephews dearly. Upon his sister’s death he had vowed to take care of them as his own – and his heirs. No, Thorin must have been taken in by the lawmen of Bree’s story of their demise on the farm roads. Surely, Thorin would have investigated, but Wharin and Kerán seemed to be experienced in their schemes and the evidence would undoubtedly be convincing.

Fíli permitted himself a small smile imagining Thorin’s reaction when they arrived in Erebor. For once, they had rescued themselves. Of course, getting to Erebor on their own will not be easy. They would need ponies, supplies and weapons for their journey. His original bargain with Wharin had been only for their freedom. For the sake of security, he would need to renegotiate the terms Wharin to ensure that they would have the means to travel after being set free.

Once safely in Erebor, Fíli would have proven his worth and would take his rightful place as first in line to the throne. Thorin would be so proud. Perhaps the entire tribulation could be dismissed as a bad dream and eventually forgotten. Perhaps it could even be considered a blessing in disguise – after all, Fíli wouldn’t have had the opportunity to prove himself and would certainly not have discovered the valuable jewel beneath the stones of the hovel’s floor otherwise. Fíli peered over at the seemingly inconspicuous floor stone. Until then, he told himself, he just had to be careful.

The plan regarding the engraving of the knives had been very far-fetched and it was no surprise that nothing had come of it. How had he really expected Thorin to recognize one of only a few crudely made farm tools in the bustling town of Bree? Even if there truly was a wizard looking for them, which Fíli very much doubted since neither he nor anybody of his acquaintance would ever consult a wizard, he would not recognize their sigils for what they were. The plan had been ridiculous. Besides, the making of the knives were no longer priority and Kerán did not even show concern at the mention of them – his interest having been set on something else entirely. At least the forge served to keep them warm during the winter days.

Kíli had slept for most of the afternoon. When he did wake, he was not keen on joining in on Fíli’s preparation for their escape and agreed without argument to Fíli’s ideas and suggestions. Fíli could understand that he was still tired and made no comment. He himself was still physically hurting from his altercation with Kerán – at least it was gradually getting better. He only hoped it would heal before their journey to Erebor. Riding a pony in his current state would be painful.

Consumed by his schemes, Fíli was almost shocked when the door was opened no earlier than usual and Kerán appeared carrying the tray of food and two coils of rope he had not even bothered to conceal beneath his cloak this time. The tray contained food for only one. Fíli gulped. Luckily his jewel was safely hidden beneath the floor this time. He saw that Kíli had retreated to the other side of the room, nearest to the door and well away from where Fíli was sitting.

Placing the tray on the table, Kerán nodded a stern greeting to Fíli. Fíli felt a shiver run down his spine. The farmer turned to Kíli and his entire stance changed from tall and dominating to gentle and unimposing – like one cornering a skittish deer.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Kíli who stood perfectly still, looking straight into Kerán’s eyes. He didn’t answer, instead extending forearms, wrists clamped together, toward his keeper with a fierce look of determination. Kerán looked briefly disappointed, almost hurt, by Kíli’s symbolic concession. He rolled the coils of rope between his fingers before approaching.

Never once breaking eye contact, Kíli stared Kerán down as the rope was looped around his wrists numerous times before being pulled taught and secured with a robust knot. His bound hands were pushed against his chest and the process was repeated with the second coil. The rope was wrapped around his upper body, tying his elbows to his sides and finally also linked through his bound wrists with enough length still left to serve as a makeshift leash. Though it looked uncomfortable, it was not unnecessarily brutal and Fíli thought he could hear Kerán murmuring a soft apology as he worked at it.

Seemingly satisfied, the farmer unlocked the cuff and took the end of the leash, twisting it around his knuckles once, twice over and looked over his shoulder at Fíli who had been mindful to keep his distance on Kíli’s warning. He dropped his gaze to the floor as he could not stand to face the farmer’s glare of admonition, nor the possibility of catching Kíli’s eyes and the look they may hold.

As Kíli was led out the door, Fíli regarded the hairline cracks on the surface of the floor with great interest. It reminded him of something.

-o0o- 

The night was deadly quiet and uncommonly cold. Fíli had loaded the forge with as much firewood as it could take. Remaining as close to the comforting heat as possible,  he steered his thoughts away from what had to be happening not far away from where he was. There was no sound or even light coming from the direction of the farmhouse. He refused to think about it. Instead he planned his negotiations with Wharin and revised every feature of the road to Erebor that he could remember from his study of maps. There, basking in the warmth of the fire and with his jewel tucked into the folds of his cloak, Fíli planned until the fire had consumed itself.

By morning, Fíli was confident in his detailed scheme to get them to Erebor before spring. All that remained was for Wharin to come see them - the news about his sister being alive had to exceed his expectations and hopefully this would be evident in his gratitude towards the dwarves who supplied it. The jewel once again safe within its hiding place, Fíli couldn’t wait for Kíli to come through the door so he could relate the genius of his plan to him.

But Kíli did not come.

Morning dissolved into afternoon and the skies outside became darker, promising more rain. Impatiently, Fíli paced the room. Kerán had promised Kíli that he would return him during the day. Would Kerán break his promise to Kíli, further jeopardizing their fragile liaison?

It was softly raining by the time the door did finally swing open. Kerán stood aside, allowing Kíli, once again bound and tethered, to enter. Carrying another bunch of flowers, larger than the previous one, mostly in front of his face, his brother did not look at him, Fíli noticed.  Also he had been bathed and was wearing different clothing. He came to a halt a few steps into the room and faced the farmer. Kerán reached for the chain hooked to the railing and knelt down before him, closing the cuff around his ankle again and releasing him from his bonds with careful hands.

Once the farmer had gathered the ropes, he tenderly ran the outside of his hand along the edge of Kíli’s face. Kíli did not react in the slightest.

“Thank you,” Kerán said when he left. He locked the gate, testing it with one hand before leaving and closing the door against the misty breeze.

That left Fíli staring at Kíli, who was staring at the door.

“Kíli, I need to tell you …” Fíli began, but he stopped when Kíli turned to face him. He lowered the blue flowers, curiously matching his new his new tunic in colour, to his side before letting them slip from his fingers and onto the floor wet with the breeze-swept droplets of rain. Even from the distance he was at, Fíli saw Kíli’s swollen lip and the red bruise that ran from his jaw line to his left ear. He reached out a hand.

“Fíli.”

With an uncharacteristic wobble in his step, Kíli closed the distance between them, flinging himself into Fíli’s arms with something akin to a sob. Suddenly, Fíli was reminded of the time when Kíli was much younger. Kíli very rarely cried as a dwarfling, but when he did it was Fíli he ran to for comfort and reassurance. Fíli patted Kíli’s back and wondered of this new arrangement meant that he would only be getting one meal a day from now on.

-o0o- 

Kerán came for Kíli again that night, as well as the next. Kíli did not wish to speak about what was happening inside the farmhouse in the dark of night, and Fíli did not push him to do so.

There was no mention of Wharin from Kerán and no indication of when he might be coming to see them again. Fíli knew that there was no way to ask without drawing suspicion. He could only hope it would be soon.  

Kíli had told him that he had overheard the farmer speaking to his wife again. This time they had been arguing, apparently with Kíli being the subject of conflict. At least this confirmed that Kíli had not misheard the first time.

Each time Kíli was returned, it was in different states of injury and pain, but always with some arrangement of blue cornflowers in his hand. Strangely, the amount of flowers corresponded to the degree of abuse Kíli had suffered at the farmer’s hands that night. This was perhaps best illustrated by the fifth time when Kíli could barely walk and the rope burns around his wrists were bleeding from underneath superficially healed scabs. Kerán made the effort to carry Kíli to the back room and lay him down onto the bedrolls. The young dwarf had not been entirely conscious as Kerán desperately patted his cheeks trying to make him drink some medicinal concoction, yet he was pushing at Kerán’s hands that were on his body, groaning at every touch.

Even after Kíli was asleep, Kerán stayed by his side. He whispered apologies, reassurances and sweet words at the broken dwarf. He brought several large bouquets of the flowers which he placed around Kíli in a way which disturbingly resembled a funeral arrangement. Later, the biting cold air would dehydrate the delicate flowers, leaving them lying limp and lifeless on the dark stone floor.

He did not come for Kíli that night. Instead, Kíli could sleep in the safety and relative comfort of the back room sanctuary. Fíli himself could only be swayed to sleep long after dark. He dreamed of the halls of Erebor as Thorin had described them in his tales. He was being formally inaugurated as the heir apparent to the throne, clad in red and gold robes – and his beautiful jewel hung on a thick gold chain around his neck. Fíli had never really been one for jewellery, but in this case he would make an exception. Fíli took his seat next to Thorin’s throne and the crowds were roaring with applause, raising their goblets to his health and prosperity. He looked down at the cherished jewel at his chest again, confused to find that the chain had somehow transformed into a small, scaly dragon that was curled around the jewel possessively.  When he tried to reach for it, the dragon hissed at him. He tried to shake the jewel free from the cursed creature only to have the dragon become angrier, bigger. It took a deep breath…

It was a cruel awakening from the warm dream. The rich tapestries and golden statues disappeared, replaced by the cold stone walls of the stone hovel. He looked to his right, finding Kíli’s bedroll empty. He could hear a chain clinking in the hollowness of the dissolute building. With the cold acid of panic seizing his stomach, he sprung up and rounded the edge of the wall into the main room.

There, in the weak light from the fire, right beside the upturned floor stone, stood Kíli with his back toward Fíli. He was looking down at something in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Fíli shouted, his voice shrill.

Kíli spun around, eyes wide with shock. “I am looking for the-”

He did not have the chance to finish. The dragon breathed its terrible fire.

 -o0o-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: _Devour_


End file.
